





















































































































» 

















V 

























































































































. 














































/ 














































































































































































I. 














SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


MARGARET T. APPLEGARTH 




SHORT 

MISSIONARY PLAYS 


BY 

MARGARET T. APPLEGARTH 


Author of “More Short Missionary Plays,*' “Some Boys and 
Girls in America," “India Inklings," “Lamplighters 
Across the Sea," “Missionary Stories for 
Little Folks," etc . 


NEW 


YORK 


GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 






COPYRIGHT, 192S, 

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



N\ 



SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS. II 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

AUG 3i ’23 

©C1A759154 

•v»# | 



SOME PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS 


These little plays are sent forth in the hope that 
both those who give them and those who see them 
may catch new meanings in the missionary mes¬ 
sages we have been hearing all our lives in stories 
and sermons and addresses. The plays are simple 
enough not to need many rehearsals nor to require 
much skill for their proper presentation: indeed, 
elocutionary gifts, as such, have been known to 
spoil the effect of many a missionary play, for the 
simple reason that a sincere attitude of mind “puts 
things across” with much more genuine force than 
the affectation of a passion which is merely as¬ 
sumed for effect. That does not mean that dra¬ 
matic ability should not be used whenever avail¬ 
able; it is merely to encourage those in the aver¬ 
age church who have little skill, no training, but 
a true love for the great end in view! 

Because we may not have gifted actors, there 
will be a valuable spiritual appeal in a well- 
selected familiar hymn which can drive home many 
a fine point and linger in the memory long after 
the spoken word is silent. Therefore, in almost 
every play, an appropriate hymn has been given 
to supplement the message of the play itself. 

The matter of Oriental costumes is always rather 
staggering to the average society, but there are two 
[v] 


SOME PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS 

things to bear in mind: first, that your audience is 
not likely to know any more about the details of 
clothes worn in far eastern countries than you 
know yourself; therefore accuracy is not as essen¬ 
tial as a good general effect; and second, a little 
ingenuity with bright materials and paint can work 
wonders, as the following suggestions will prove. 
For example: 

India. A woman’s sari requires about eight 
yards of uncut material, at least a yard wide. Use 
cheesecloth, muslin, or old curtains sewed end to 
end, lengthwise, and dyed in brilliant shades. The 
simplest way to get the desired draped effect is to 
pin a piece of goods around the waist for a belt, 
then hastily pleat one-half of the material into 
folds which are to be pinned on the belt to form 
the skirt; the remaining material may then be 
passed over the left hip, up under the right arm 
and over the left shoulder, bringing it around in 
front like a shawl with the end hanging loose. For 
all outdoor scenes this shawl effect should be 
brought up over the head as a covering. 

This loose end is the part of a sari frequently 
decorated. Buy some Sapolin gold paint and a 
bottle of Higgin’s Black Drawing Ink. Lay the 
end of the goods on a large piece of blotting paper 
and paint broad gold bands, outlined with narrow 
black borders. Or, for variety, paint circles, 
squares, triangles, flowers, Greek keys, etc., in bril¬ 
liant water colors brought out tellingly with an 
occasional black border or row of black dots. 

A round-necked waist with short sleeves should 
[vi] 


SOME PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS 

be worn underneath. Use as many necklaces, brace¬ 
lets, earrings and rings as possible. 

Widows wear no ornaments; only a plain white 
sari. 

In general, Hindu men and boys may be said to 
wear white coats, such as dentists or waiters wear, 
and white trousers—no collars or ties. A broad 
colored girdle may be pinned around the waist. 
Gorgeous turbans should be wound around their 
heads. 

China. Loose black trousers and a kimono- 
sleeved jacket, long or short, may be worn by both 
men and women. Old blue is the most popular 
color in China, but purple, mahogany, and green 
are much used by adults and the gayest possible 
shades by children. The jackets are cut somewhat 
on the lines of the pajama jackets which fasten 
first at the neck and then under the right arm 
with frogs. It is possible to dye a pajama suit 
with some bright color and make it altogether Ori¬ 
ental by using plenty of gold paint in bands around 
the edges, with a few black markings to emphasize 
the gold. Dragons in gold on the front and back 
of such a coat would make it look really very valu¬ 
able. It is possible to buy stencil patterns in art 
stores if you have not the courage to try a design 
free hand. Remember, always, that the audience 
is too far away to be critical of details. 

For the men and boys make round black sateen 
caps, like skull caps, with a red ball sewed in the 
center of the crown. Queues are no longer worn 
by Chinese men or boys, but little girls indulge 
[vii] 


SOME PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS 

in one and sometimes in three pigtails (even num¬ 
bers are unlucky) braided to a fine point with red 
string worked in just for good luck. The Chinese 
stand with their hands tucked up the opposite 
sleeve, and in “shaking hands” merely elevate and 
lower their own superimposed hands against the 
fronts of their own jackets. 

Japan. Kimonos with square wing-like sleeves 
are too familiar to need description; where they 
cannot be obtained, standard patterns may be 
bought from which pastel-colored crepe kimonos 
may be cut. Only the children (and the geisha 
girls) wear the gaudy shades. Sashes can be tied 
in butterfly bows behind, but these are not nearly 
so correct as the stiffer and more formal effect 
gained by an oblong of the sash material looped 
perpendicularly across the sash in back, extending 
in an unbroken line from the shoulder blades to 
below the hips. 

Korea. The girls and women may wear plain 
little white kimono-sleeve waists with a V neck, 
collarless, and either light or dark full-gathered 
skirts with waist-lines so high that the belts come 
directly under the arms and are tied in front with 
the narrow streamers of the bows hanging loose. 

Moslem countries. Make a double skirt gathered 
at the waist line—one half to hang down to form 
the skirt, the other half to be brought up like a 
shawl over the head and shoulders. This is a very 
generalized description, of course, as Egyptian, 
Arabian, Persian and Turkish costumes all come 
under the category “Moslem.” Plain black, plain 
[viii] 


SOME PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS 

colored or flowered materials may be used; to gain 
the best effect black is suggested. Either a plain 
black or a plain white gauze veil should be drawn 
across the face just under the eyes and left to hang 
loose for about twelve inches. 

Africa. The men may wear black tights, long 
black stockings and long black gloves to save black¬ 
ening the hands and arms. Faces and necks should 
be blackened, but not with any comic effects. Gir¬ 
dles may be of three kinds—bright-colored pieces 
of material around the hips and thighs, or animal 
skins (fur stoles are excellent), or straw skirts 
made by sewing hay on a cloth girdle so that the 
bristling straws give a satisfactorily savage effect. 
Necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and large brass cur¬ 
tain-ring earrings are needed. 

For the girls and women black waists with long 
tight sleeves, and several yards of gaudy material 
draped around the body under one arm and over 
the other shoulder. A complete description of a 
witch-doctor’s outfit is given in the play called 
“Pain Street.” 

Spanish-American. A mantilla for the women 
and girls, with a flower in the hair (over the ears) 
of the latter. Full skirts and plain waists will 
answer the purpose well enough. For the men and 
boys, broad-brimmed straw sombreros which may 
be farmers’ straw hats with red bands around the 
crowns. Collarless shirts, broad colored girdles, 
and either a black bolero jacket or a red blanket 
arranged in folds to hang straight down front and 
back over the left shoulder. 

[ix] 


SOME PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS 

Immigrants. A shawl around the shoulders and 
a scarf tied over the head, knotted under the chin, 
will be sufficient costuming, unless otherwise indi¬ 
cated. 

American Indians. Camp Eire Girl outfits may 
be used, and where these are not obtainable red 
blankets in Navajo patterns may be wrapped 
around the body. Feather head bands for the boys, 
and bead head bands for the girls if desired. 

Alaskan. Fur coats may be used, with hoods 
fashioned from fur collars. 

Costumes for rent. The Department of Mis¬ 
sionary Education of the Baptist Board of Edu¬ 
cation (276 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y.) has 
an equipment of over four hundred costumes, the 
rental privileges of which are extended to all de¬ 
nominations. The equipment includes Africa, 
American Indians, Arabia, Burma, China, Egypt, 
Eskimos, India, Japan, Korea, Palestine, Persia, 
the Philippines, Syria and Turkey, and has spe¬ 
cialized types of costumes for artisans, beggars, 
brides, children, coolies, laborers, merchants, 
monks, officials, priests, school-teachers, village 
people, and the rich as well as the poor. Write to 
inquire the prices of the costumes you may need. 

How to make an idol . A very realistic idol 
may be made from two sofa pillows of dark un¬ 
figured material. One pillow should be placed hori¬ 
zontally on a chair draped with red material to 
form a pedestal. Dent the pillows slightly in the 
side facing front as this will form the two knees; 
it may be well to tie a dark string loosely around 

M 


SOME PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS 


the pillow to keep this dent in place. The second 
pillow is to form the body. One generous corner 
of it will be the head after a piece of string has 
been tied tightly around it to make a neck; this 
makes a peaked cap effect at the top. With chalk 
mark in hair, eye-brows, and nose. For eyes make 
two big circles of white paper and pin them into 
the pillow with black-headed hatpins for pupils. 
Hideous sneering red lips may be made of red 
paper pinned in place with great white-headed pins 
set in a grim double row for teeth. Extra out- 
jutting ears should be the same color as the mate¬ 
rial. Since this head will naturally be upright, the 
two adjoining corners of the pillow become elbows; 
stuffed gloves should be fastened to the elbows. 
The remaining corner of this pillow must now be 
punched in and flattened so that the body of the 
idol may be securely pinned perpendicularly (or 
sewed) to the lower horizontal pillow. Votive 
necklaces, joss-sticks burning in twin vases before 
the shrine, and gongs will all add the final touches 
of idolatry. If the idol is placed on a cane-seated 
chair the lower pillow may be tied to the canes for 
security. In any case the upright pillow must be 
invisibly tied behind to the chair-back. 


[xi] 


CONTENTS 


COLOR BLIND. 

Boys and Girls in America 

KIMONO. 

Japan 

THE LATEST VICTOR RECORD . 

India 

JUST SUPPOSE. 

India 

THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH THE EARTH 
China 

SEVEN KEYS TO MR. BALD PATE . 

China 

HANDS UP!. 

Spanish-A merica 

FARE, PLEASE. 

New Americans 

INDELIBLE. 

Negroes 

THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THE TELEPHONE 

BOOK. 

Medical Missions 

PAIN STREET . 

Medical Missions 

[xiii] 


PAGE 

17 

33 

51 

61 

79 

97 

106 

i 

118 

130 

149 

156 


I 
























SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


COLOR BLIND 


IN THREE ACTS; TWENTY-TWO CHARACTERS; FOUR 
PRINCIPAL SPEAKING PARTS 


The Cast : 

Miss Tracy, the artist . 

Mrs. Newton, the mother in mourning. 

Marie, the French maid. 

Seven or eight little fair-haired girls and boys 
under seven years of age. 

Issy, a young girl—very small for her years how¬ 
ever. 

Jaky, her little seven-year-old brother. 

Her baby sister. 

Children of all nationalities in America—Negro, 
Chinese, Japanese, American Indian, Alaskan, 
Mexican, and the so-called “New Americans” 
in as distinctive costumes as possible—e.g., 
Italians in Roman-striped shawls, Russian boy 
in smock, etc. 

Directions : 

Arrange platform as an artist’s studio, easel and 
canvas in the foreground, all sorts of children’s 
pictures leaning against the wall. This same 
scene throughout the play. 

[ 17 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


ACT I 

When the play opens the Artist is seen working 
on a canvas, holding a palette in her hand. 
She hacks off occasionally holding her head on 
one side as she squints critically at the pic¬ 
ture. Knocking is heard at the door. Artist 
goes to open it, palette still in hand . 

Enter Mrs. Newton. [In deep mourning, heavy 
hlack veil over her face; lifting this veil hack over 
her hat, she says:'] You are Miss Tracy? The chil¬ 
dren’s artist? I am Mrs. Newton, Mrs. Theodore 
Newton. Miss Tracy, I have come to talk about a 
picture which I hope you can paint for me. 

Artist. [Putting down her palette and brush, 
pulls forward a chair.] Certainly, Mrs. Newton. 
Won’t you be seated? [They both sit down.] 
What kind of a picture did you have in mind? 

Mrs. Newton. [Holding a black-bordered hand¬ 
kerchief against her lips.] Miss Tracy, my hus¬ 
band and I have had a great sorrow—we— 
[Stops to gain her self-control.] 

Artist. [Sympathetically.] Oh! I am so 
sorry—” 

Mrs. Newton. It is so hard for me to speak of 
it, but we lost our little girl this year. She was 
just five years old. We have been wanting to do 
something—for her sake—as a memorial. You may 
have heard that the Church of the Redeemer is 
erecting a beautiful new building? Mr. Newton 
and I are members, and we want to have a me¬ 
tis] 


COLOR BLIND 


morial picture painted on the east wall—a mural 
painting, and we wondered if you would undertake 
the commission? 

Artist. That is a wonderful honor, Mrs. Newton. 
I certainly appreciate it and I shall be very happy 
to undertake it. Have you any definite ideas for 
the picture? 

Mrs. Newton. Yes; oh, yes! We want it to be 
a picture of little children around the throne of 
God. You know that lovely old hymn—“Around 
the throne of God in heaven, thousands of children 
stand”? We used to love to hear Angela sing it, 
and our idea is to use that as a theme for the pic¬ 
ture. The building committee and the architects 
are enthusiastic about it; and it’s because we know 
that you are an expert in children’s pictures that 
we turn to you. Mr. Newton and I have only one 
condition: we do hope that you will use Angela’s 
own little neighbors and playmates for the group 
of children. Their parents are very willing; in¬ 
deed, many of them belong to our church so that 
it will be doubly appropriate to keep it within our 
own circle. The children themselves are exquisite 
little mortals. 

Artist. Doubtless that could be arranged, Mrs. 
Newton. 

Mrs. Newton. I don’t want to be too insistent, 
Miss Tracy, but really we want only that special 
type of child—sweet little spirituelle faces—golden 
hair— 

Artist. Of course, that is the type. I shall be 
glad to see these children soon; I wonder if you 
[ 19 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

could arrange for them to come here to-morrow 
morning. They ought to wear white. 

Mrs. Newton. [Clasping her hands.] Yes, spot¬ 
less white! They will look so lovely! [Rising.] 
Oh, Miss Tracy, I am so relieved that you can 
undertake it for us. I will see that the children 
arrive to-morrow. About ten? 

Miss Tracy. Yes, about ten. 

[They shake hands. Mrs. Newton pulls her 
heavy veil forward over her face as she leaves 
the room.] 

Artist. [Stands in the middle of the platform, 
her clasped hands held against her chin as, lost in 
thought, she stares off in space. Then nods, smil¬ 
ing:] Yes, it’s really a lovely idea! A great white 
throne with the Saviour and all those fragile aris¬ 
tocratic little creatures with their golden hair and 
their sweet little up-turned faces. Um’m! [Nods 
slowly, retaining the faraway gaze.] 

CURTAIN 

ACT II 

Same scene as before. Artist, wearing a painting 
smock, is seen putting a few last touches on 
an impromptu white throne, constructed from 
a small raised platform (made of several boxes 
the same height) and a high-backed cathedral 
chair, with several sheets arranged over the 
platform steps and the seat of the chair, pos¬ 
sibly over the back also if the effect is good. 

[ 20 ] 




COLOR BLIND 


[Knocking is heard.] 

Artist. Here they are! [Goes to the door and 
opens it.] 

[Enter Marie, black-gowned, with a frilled wisp 
of a cap and apron; standing behind her are 
the seven or eight little children.] 

Marie. [Gesticulating.] Ees zis ze studio of ze 
Mam’selle Tracy where zese leetle enfants will have 
zeir picture paint? 

Artist. [Laughing.] This is the place! Come 
in, my dears, come in! Let me help you take off 
your coats and hats. 

[Children enter, curtsying politely. Both Marie 
and the Artist busy themselves removing little 
coats, hats, and gloves. Marie then primly 
seats herself by the exit door, looking rather 
bored, yawning occasionally and batting the 
back of her hand against her lips to stifle the 
yawns. Finally nods off to sleep.] 

Artist. [Meanwhile arranges children around 
the white throne.] You see, I haven’t had time 
to have a really wonderful throne made yet, but 
you can pretend that this is heaven, can’t you? 
[Children nod, spellbound.] And that this chair 
is the beautiful white throne of God, can’t you? 
[Children nod.] See, it is high and lifted up, and 
the glory of it fills all heaven. [Children gaze at 
it enraptured.] 

One little girl. [Climbs up the small raised 
platform and pats the chair seat experimen¬ 
tally; then says winsomely:] I guess I’ll just 
sit up on God’s throne! 

[ 21 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Artist. [Lifting her down.] Oh, no, dear, that 
wouldn’t do at all! For every one of you is to 
stand down here, only the Saviour Himself will be 
up on the big white marble throne while you sing 
to Him the special little song which you have been 
learning. Let me place you just the way I want 
you to stand, then I can start painting you. You 
stand here, dear, and you here. [Artist poses the 
children around the throne, then hurries to her 
easel and starts sketching them rapidly.] Perhaps 
you might sing your little song for me right now, 
will you? 

[Children sing:] 

“Around the throne of God in heaven 
Thousands of children stand, 

Children whose sins are all forgiven, 

A holy, happy band, singing: 

Glory! Glory! Glory be to God on high.” 

[They should repeat the last line softly as a 
refrain, almost in a whisper .] 

[Artist draws as if inspired. Marie sleeps. 
Timid knock is heard. Artist too absorbed to 
notice it. Another knock. Artist still pays 
no attention. Marie still sleeps. Children all 
look over their shoulders toward the door. 
Third knock. Little girl now leaves her place 
in the group around the throne and tiptoes 
softly over to the Artist. Pulling her smock 
she says:] 

I think—I think there’s some one knocking at 
the door of heaven! [Points at the door.] 

[ 22 ] 


COLOR BLIND 


Artist. [ Turning, calls:] Come in! Open the 

door and come right in. 

[Enter Issy, Joky and the baby. Issy wears a 
drab shawl around her shoulders, a bright 
scarf (folded triangle-fashion) over her head, 
knotted under her chin, with the free corner 
hanging over the nape of her neck. Wears 
patched gingham dress. There are large holes 
in her stockings. Issy carries the baby all 
bundled up in another shawl and leads Jaky 
by the hand. He wears exceedingly shabby 
blue overalls with all sorts (and colorsf) of 
patches sewed here and there. One suspender 
strap of the overalls is missing, but a piece of 
rope is substituted. The faces and hands of 
all three are very dirty. Jaky has the habit 
of rubbing his fist across his nose.] 

Issy. [Setting the baby on the floor, pulls off 
Jaky’s tattered cap and bobs a curtsy.] Say, 
leddy, sooner my popper heard tell how you was 
painting a big pitcher of kids for going in the new 
church over there —[Jerks her thumb over her 
shoulder.] —he says to me, says he, “Issy, I wants 
you should go mit little brudder und sister for 
getting painted into that there pitcher.” So here 
we comes, leddy. 

Artist. But I think there must be some mis¬ 
take, my dear; I don’t understand at all. In the 
first place, who is your father? 

Issy. [Surprised.] Why, don’t you know pop? 
Well, pop’s the feller that totes the bricks up them 
stepladders for building steeples und udder high 
[ 23 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

up dang’rous places. Ain’t you really never seen 
pop, leddy? Ain’t you never seen him dumb them 
ladders all the same as most folks dumb stair¬ 
cases? Mit bricks on his shoulder, see? Like 
this! [She imitates man with hod on his left 
shoulder, reaching higher and higher with his 
right hand, and pretending to step up, up, up.] 
Why, say, I seen pop git most to heaven, leddy. 
Honest! Jaky’s awful proud over pop’s steeples, 
ain’t you, Jaky? [Grabs Jaky’s right hand and 
says, rebukingly:] Quit wiping your nose und 
speak up real nice and loud. Say “Yes, leddy.” 

Jaky. [Furtively rubs his other fist across his 
nose, says meekly:] Yes, leddy. 

Artist . [Much embarrassed.] But, my dear 
child, I still don’t quite seem to understand why 
you came, for I have all the models I need. 

points at the group of children around the 
throne.] 

Issy. [Abashed, points her thumb at that ex¬ 
quisite silent group.] Them f But they ain’t real 
live kids, is they? [Artist nods. Issy cranes her 
neck toward them curiously.] Say, leave me touch 
’em, will you? [Walks over and tiptoes all around 
them in sheer admiration, her head tilted apprais¬ 
ingly. Touches one or two of the little dresses 
gingerly. Then, coming back to the Artist, nudges 
her enthusiastically:] Well, what do you know 
about that? Ain’t they just puffikly schweet? 
Look, Jaky, just like leetle white angels already 
so soon, ain’t they? [Jaky jerks his head in a 
[ 24 ] 


COLOR BLIND 


solemn nod.] But Jaky, this ain’t no place for 
me und you und beebee. [Grabs his hand, and 
gathers the baby under one arm.] Me und you 
und beebee’s too dreadful dirty for getting painted 
into heaven, Jaky. So just look your fill. My! 
My! Ain’t it puffikly lovely? [Gazes admiringly 
at the children and then at the room. Says to 
Jaky, crossly:] Quit wiping your nose, like I told 
you! Come now, let’s beat it, or we’ll muss up 
this grand place. Lift up your foots real high, 
Jaky, so you won’t squash this swell rug. Don’t 
it stick up something elegant? 

Jaky. [Leans down to stroke the rug gently.] 
Like pussy-cats it feels, Issy! 

Issy. [Apologetically to Artist.] Excuse him, 
leddy. He ain’t used to heaven! Well, good-by. 
[They step high on their way to the door. Open - 
ing it, Issy waves her hand warningly to those out¬ 
side and yells loudly:] Shoo! Shoo! Git back 
there! 

Marie. [Wakes up in alarm and jumps to her 
feet. 

Artist. [Hurrying over.] Who have you got 
outside? 

Issy. Now please don’t call the police on me, 
leddy,—it’s just some kids I thought maybe you 
could use in your pitcher. I collected most every 
sort of kid in town, see? 

Artist. [Looking out the door.] Well, I should 
think you did! Negroes, Chinese, Japanese, Ital¬ 
ians, Russians, Turks, Greeks, Indians. But surely 
[ 25 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

you see that none of them would fit into my pic¬ 
ture? 

Issy. [Soothingly.] Oh, sure, sure! I see 
that! We ain’t none of us cleaned up enough for 
being painted in heaven. Well, good-by. [To chil¬ 
dren outside .] Shoo-o-o! [Swoops out at them.] 

Marie. [Whose hands have been raised in per¬ 
fect horror, now closes the door and says to her 
spellbound charges :] Eef mam’selle permit, ze 
enfants must put on zeir zings an’ go for zeir 
moosic lesson; yes? 

Artist. Certainly, Marie; the time is up. Thank 
you, my dears, for standing so still and looking so 
bewitching. I will be painting on the picture all 
the time until you come again. 

[Artist and Marie assist the children to put on 
their coats and hats. Artist makes various 
remarks :] 

Did you like being in my picture, Percy? Be 
careful not to muss that pretty dress, Barbara. 

Barbara. [Smoothing her dress primly.] It’s 
a clean little dress. I always wear a clean little 
dress. 

Other children. So do I! And I! And I! 

Artist. Oh, I am sure you do! Well, good-by, 
my dears. 

Children. [Bobbing polite curtsies.] Good-by, 
Miss Tracy. [Exit.] 

Artist. [Returns to the easel, takes up her 
palette and brush; regards her work critically 
through half-closed eyes, her head tilted ;] I cer¬ 
tainly managed to catch the pose. Isn’t this par- 
[ 26 ] 


COLOR BLIND 


ticular little fellow a dream? And now for the 
white of their dear little dresses and the glint of 
their golden hair . . . [Paints in silence. Then 
smiles.] Weren’t they startled when those com¬ 
ical little foreigners came bursting in? [ Smiles. 
Paints. Then sighs:] Just the same, it nearly 
broke my heart to see their quaint wistfulness. 
But imagine having such as they in such a picture 
as this! [Paints in silence. Behind the scenes the 
children are softly singing “Around the Throne of 
God in Heaven.”] 


CURTAIN 


ACT III 

Same scene as before. The Artist may have all 
her speeches written on the canvas to aid her 
memory. Artist is seen before her easel 
painting. (Different smock, if possible.) 
Stands off to look at it thoughtfully, wooden 
end of paint-brush held against her lips. 
Shakes her head disapprovingly. 

Artist. Something is certainly wrong. I never 
did a picture which pleases me so little. We have 
had eight sittings, yet I can’t seem to make any 
progress. What in the world is the matter? It 
isn’t the throne, for it’s magnificent: high and 
lifted up, white, holy. And the face of the Saviour 
is radiant, so glorified, so tender. These angels 
[ 27 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

satisfy me, too—the lovely sheen of their silvery 
wings, the worship in their very pose. And, in¬ 
dividually, each one of these darling little children 
around the throne seems to be perfectly portrayed. 
Yet something is wrong! Is it the face of the 
Saviour? Perhaps I should change the yearning 
look in His eyes. [ Starts to paint; stops, hand 
with paint-brush suspended in mid-air.] No, some¬ 
how that expression seems to belong there. Oh, 
what is lacking? Where is the trouble? For some¬ 
thing is certainly wrong! [ She picks up the big 
canvas, carries it to a chair, seats herself and 
props the canvas on her knee so that she can look 
at it earnestly.] 

[Either the Artist or an unseen soloist should 
now sing (this hymn is in “Northfield Hymnal 
No. 2.”) ] 

“Open my eyes, that I may see 
Glimpses of truth Thou hast for me; 

Place in my hand the wonderful key 
That shall unclasp and set me free. 

Silently now I wait for Thee, 

Ready my God, Thy will to see; 

Open my eyes, illumine me, Spirit Divine.” 

Artist. [Yearningly .] Ah, yes, open my eyes 
—open my eyes— 

Voice. [From behind the great white throne.] 
Suffer the little children to come unto me, and 
forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of 
heaven. 


[ 28 ] 


COLOR BLIND 


Artist. [Eagerly.'] But here they are in my 
picture, those little children! 

Voice. God hath made of one blood all nations 
of men for to dwell on the face of the whole earth, 
and hath determined the times before appointed 
and the bounds of their habitation; that they 
might seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after 
Him, and find Him, though He be not far from 
every one of us. 

[Enter the smallest of the little white-gowned 
children who posed in the second act. Tip¬ 
toeing slowly toward the throne she sings the 
refrain: “Singing, Glory! Glory! Glory he to 
God on High.” When she reaches the throne 
she leans over to rest either her elbows or her 
hands (it depends on her height, of course) 
on the seat as she silently gazes upward for a 
moment. Then turns and beckons toward the 
door to Jaky and Issy who are hesitating on 
the threshold. (Issy should have the baby 
balanced horizontally under one arm!) The 
little girl runs over to lead them to the throne, 
and standing between them—holding a hand 
of each she says:] 

“If every little child could see 
Our Saviour’s loving face, 

I’m sure that each one eagerly 
Would run to His embrace.” 

[A second little white-gowned child enters lead¬ 
ing a Negro child and a Chinese child toward 
the throne. Turns, and says to the audience:] 
[ 29 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


“Though black the hand, red, yellow, white, 

All hearts are just the same, 

Each one is precious in His sight, 

Each one He calls by name.” 

[Enter third little white-gowned child leading 
Alaskan and American Indian, followed by 
the others each leading two little foreigners; 
this third child says to the audience:] 

“And those who hear in every land, 

With loyal hearts and true, 

Will grasp some little brother’s hand 
And lead him onward, too.” * 

[The children all group themselves around the 
throne, the Artist puts her canvas back on 
the easel and starts painting; it may be neces¬ 
sary for her to help the children group them¬ 
selves attractively or to start them in their 
song, but otherwise she simply continues 
painting as one in an inspired trance while 
the children stand singing the verse and re¬ 
frain of “Around the Throne of God in 
Heaven”] 

Voice. [From behind the throne.] It is not the 
will of your Father in heaven that one of these 
little ones should perish. 

[The children now turn and, singing the refrain 
very, very softly, tiptoe from the platform, all 

* Words of “Little Brother Hymn,” by Alfred R. Lincoln. 

[ 30 ] 


COLOR BLIND 


but one little foreigner (choose the quaintest 
in the cast) who sits down contentedly on the 
lower step of the throne and refuses to leave, 
even when the others turn and beckon to her 
to come with them. She shakes her head and 
strokes the throne affectionately looking up 
beyond the seat as if she saw a beloved face . 
Issy, however, comes back and holds out her 
hand to the little girl who then jumps up 
quite willingly and leaves the platform. The 
Artist should continue painting throughout 
this little byplay .] 

Artist . [Standing back to appraise her work.] 
Oh, Father, I thank Thee for opening my eyes! 
How color blind I was! [ Points to her palette.] 
Ked, yellow, brown, black, white, upon my palette, 
yet I used only white. Hear God, Thou dost not 
make heathen, Thou only makest—little children. 
They all are precious in Thy sight: these lovely 
yellow faces, like tender tea-rose petals; these 
dusky browns, like pansy faces; these rich deep 
reds, these deep soft blacks—how lovely! [Paints 
again in silence . Then lays down her palette and 
brush, clasps her hands and cries:] Finished! 

. . . Oh, I love it! I love it. [Prays.] Dear 
Father, keep all of us from ever being color blind 
again. Help each of us to see that since our 
country marches forward on the feet of little chil¬ 
dren, the colors are Thy rainbow of promise for 
the future of our country. Oh, Thou to whom all 
colors are alike, grant us to see the good in each 
[ 31 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


and to develop it, that Thy name may be hallowed, 
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, as 
it is in heaven. Amen. 


CURTAIN 


KIMONO 


IN FIVE SHORT SCENES; TEN CHARACTERS; SIX 
SPEAKING PARTS 


The Cast: 

Miss Lucy Kimball 

Mrs. Thurston. 

Japanese mother. 

Japanese baby, a doll. 

Buddhist priest. 

Missionary. 

Japanese Bible woman. 

Three or four little Japanese children. 

Invitations and Poster: 

From odds and ends of bright-colored cardboard 
cut Japanese lanterns, painting the top and bot¬ 
tom rims black; punch a hole in the top rim so 
that the little lanterns may be hung (a la Tag 
Day) on the buttons of the prospective audience 
the Sunday before the play. In a column of six 
letters print the word K. .1. .M. .0. .N. .0 on 
one side of the lantern in red or black ink, using 
script that is as heavy and Japanese in character 
as possible. On the reverse side print the date, 
place, and price, if any. 

Another invitation idea would be to mount pic¬ 
tures of pretty Japanese girls on cards, printing 
[ 33 ] 



SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

the word “Kimono” in a column up and down the 
right hand side of the card. Interesting figures 
may be cut from Japanese crepe paper napkins. 
These same figures can be used to decorate the 
poster, which may be cut out in the shape of a 
lantern and hung on the church bulletin board for 
a week or more before the program is to be pre¬ 
sented. 

Directions : 

For convenience, the play is divided into five 
scenes, but the time between the scenes need not 
be longer than one minute since all the necessary 
shifting of furniture is to be quite simple, as indi¬ 
cated. 

The platform should contain, when the play 
opens: a table against a side wall, with a tele¬ 
phone on it; a sofa against the opposite wall. 

It will be a great help to Miss Kimball to have 
her speeches for Scenes I and V open on the tele¬ 
phone table for ready reference. Mrs. Thurston 
may also do this. 

SCENE I: Enter Miss Kimball, wearing hat, coat 
and gloves . 

Miss Kimball. [Removing gloves and yawning .] 
Mercy, Fm simply tired out! [ Telephone rings.] 
Oh, pshaw, who can that be? [Picks up receiver.] 
Yes? 

Mrs. Thurston. [Seated at the foot of the plat¬ 
form, at side furthest away from the telephone 
[ 34 ] 


KIMONO 


which Miss Kimball uses. Another telephone is 
placed on a small table for her use:] Could I speak 
with Miss Lucy Kimball? 

Miss Kimball. This is Miss Kimball speaking. 

Mrs. Thurston. Oh! This is Mrs. Thurston at 
the [mention your church ] Church. I’m such a 
new member that I think we have not met yet, but 
I hope we may have an opportunity to meet soon 
for I have been asked to get up a mission study 
course at the church for the next six Tuesday 
afternoons, and I am ’phoning to see whether you 
will join the class, Miss Kimball. The general 
topic is to be Japan. Isn’t it perfectly wonderful 
that we have been able to secure Mrs. Early 
Pioneer to teach the first few lessons? She’s a 
perfectly charming old soul, you know, and knows 
every inch of the country and has the most fas¬ 
cinating stories. You never want her to stop 
talking! 

Miss Kimball. [Exceedingly cool.] But I 
really couldn’t join the class, Mrs. Thurston. 

Mrs. Thurston. Oh; not because of the day, I 
hope, for possibly that could be changed? 

Miss Kimball. Oh, no, the day is all right. 

Mrs. Thurston. [Laughing.] Meaning that 
something else isn’t all right? Now do tell me, 
for you’re such a good [mention denomination] 
church member that I really didn’t trouble to lead 
up to my invitation very gracefully. I plunged 
straight to the point, so do forgive me if I haven’t 
made it sound alluring enough. 

Miss Kimball. Oh, there’s nothing to forgive, 
[ 35 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

I assure you. It’s simply that I think it’s quite 
unnecessary to spend any time studying Japan. 
It’s such a civilized country, you know. I have a 
cousin who spent several months traveling there 
last year and she says that except for kimonos and 
jinrikishas you’d almost think you were in San 
Francisco. Street-cars and telephones and fine 
hotels. Everything copied either from America or 
Germany. 

Mrs. Thurston. Ah, yes, but have they copied 
the best that we have? Not with those thousands 
of Buddhist temples and those millions of Shinto 
shrines! 

Miss Kimball. [Vexed; impatiently tosses her 
head.] Well, don’t expect me to join a mission 
study class! I don’t mind telling you frankly that 
I can’t see any use in trying to cram our own par¬ 
ticular brand of religion down everybody’s throat. 
The Japanese have their own religion, and it’s a 
very picturesque religion, I assure you. My cousin 
says the Buddhist temples are simply stunning, 
many of them; and after the people worship they 
stay in the temple grounds, quite happily, to have 
a good time. Evidently they are entirely con¬ 
tented with the gods they have. I don’t remember 
to have heard much about their clamoring for any¬ 
thing else. So you’ll please excuse me—I’m very 
busy just now— 

Mrs. Thurston. Oh, but Miss Kimball! This 
isn’t like you. You’re a pillar of the [mention 
name of church] Church, and I had supposed— 

Miss Kimball. I may be a pillar and still not 
[ 36 ] 


KIMONO 


be so narrow-minded as you seem to require me 
to be! I can’t imagine why I should try to turn 
the whole world into [mention denomination ] s! 
Good-by. [Hangs up receiver rather crossly. 
Takes off her hat, presses hand on forehead .] I 
do declare, that woman has given me a perfectly 
blinding headache! I feel simply good for noth¬ 
ing. I’d better get right into my kimono and see 
if I can’t sleep it off. [Exit. Removes hat and 
coat as she goes.] 

Miss Kimball. [Returns in kimono, tying sash 
around her waist. The kimono, of course, is to go 
over her dress. Presses her hands on her fore¬ 
head.] My head is simply splitting! I can’t think 
what causes these headaches to come on so sud¬ 
denly. It’s good I still have one of those splendid 
powders Dr. Foster gave me. [Takes powder.] 
Now I’ll probably feel better. [Goes over to sofa 
and seats herself. Lifts up sleeve of kimono to 
admire it.] This is all of Japan Pm interested 
in! Isn’t it pretty? [Lies down. All lights go 
out in auditorium and on platform. Or, if play is 
given in the daytime, a curtain is drawn across 
platform for a moment.] 

SCENE II: Remove telephone from table and cover 
table with a bright red cloth extending to the 
ground. Decorate the red cloth with gorgeous 
gold designs. Sapolin Gold Paint comes in 
cheap packages and is extremely effective 
when seen from a distance, with some black 
here and there to bring out the designs. Place 
[ 37 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


an idol on the table. If a good-sized image is 
not available it is quite possible to make an 
excellent imitation from two sofa pillows, as 
described in the opening chapter on “Cos¬ 
tumes” (see Foreword). Place burning joss- 
sticks in twin bud-vases before the idol. All 
this can be done in a minute by one person, 
while somebody else is placing a pedestal in 
the middle of the platform with a basin of 
water on top and a small cup. Only a very 
little water should be in the basin. Some¬ 
where against the back wall there should be a 
set of Japanese gongs, those inverted metal 
bowls commonly used in American families at 
meal-time. As the lights gradually come on 
for this scene (or just before the curtain is 
raised) these gongs should be heard booming, 
first softly then louder and louder. Whoever 
has struck them then hurries from the plat¬ 
form before the audience can see the scene.] 
Miss Kimball. [Rising from the sofa, presses 
her hands against her forehead in despair.] Oh, 
my head! My head! What have I done that the 
gods should always be sending me this infliction? 
I have surely displeased them somehow. I will 
go to Binzuru, the God of Healing, and pray to be 
cured. [She crosses the platform to the pedestal, 
where she pretends to fill the palm of her hand 
with water which she quaffs, then rinses her 
mouth, head tilted back. Then she dips up actual 
water in the dipper and pours it over each hand. 
This should look like a much more copious purifi- 
[ 38 ] 


KIMONO 


cation than it actually is,—for of course the less 
water, the better for the kimono! She then goes 
to the gong and strikes it several times slowly; 
after which she goes to the shrine of Binzuru, 
kneels before him and bends over threq times until 
her forehead touches the floor. Rising, she rubs 
the idol’s forehead and then her own forehead, 
repeating the operation many times, occasionally 
clapping her hands and obviously murmuring a 
prayer.] 

[Enter Japanese mother, wearing kimono, 
broad sash around her waist, large baby doll 
strapped on her back. Such a doll can usually 
be rented—subject to breakage damages — 
from any local Japanese novelty shop. She 
carries an open Japanese paper parasol over 
her head. She goes over to the pedestal, 
closes parasol, dips up water in palm of her 
hand and goes through same rite of purifica¬ 
tion that Miss Kimball used, after which she, 
too, strikes the gong, then approaches the 
shrine. She kneels, bows head to the floor 
three times; then, rising, rubs idol’s ear and 
baby’s ear many times alternately. She lays 
a bunch of flowers before him.] 

Miss Kimball. Your little baby is in trouble? 

Mother. [Sighing.] Oh, the poor little pigeon! 
You would not think it to look at him, but my 
baby is deaf! Not a word has he ever heard! 
Not a sound! So every afternoon I bring him to 
Binzuru, the God of Healing. I rub Binzuru’s 
ear and then my little pigeon’s ear—it ought to 
[ 39 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

help him, don’t you think so? But not yet—not 
yet. 

[Miss Kimball pats the baby, and pokes a finger 
at him enticingly as she tries to awaken his 
interest. Meanwhile, enter a poor little 

white-haired Japanese lady, bent nearly dou¬ 
ble with age. She wears a gray kimono with 
soft lavender sash. She hobbles in, using a 
cane, and goes through the same acts of puri¬ 
fication as the others. Strikes the gong, then 
kneels before the shrine with painful stiffness. 
Rising, she rubs the idol’s knees and then her 
own knees several times, alternately. When 
she is about to go she says to the two women 
who are still talking in pantomime :] 

Honorably pardon me— 

[Miss Kimball and the Japanese Mother turn to 
her politely, with a reverent inclination of 
their heads.] 

Old Lady. [In sad quavering voice.] Hon¬ 
orably pardon me for interrupting you, but can 
either of you suggest another god for me to visit? 
I come to beg Binzuru to cure my crippled knees, 
but I must be very displeasing in his sight for he 
never grants my prayer— 

Japanese Mother. Oh, Venerably Aged One, 
how gladly would I direct you somewhere, but I, 
too, do not know where to go to pray for my little 
child. Indeed, I was just asking this honorable 
stranger, but she is in trouble, too. 

Miss Kimball. [Sadly shaking her head.] Oh, 
isn’t it sad that we cannot seem to please the 
[ 40 ] 


KIMONO 


idols. I have given presents of gold and presents 
of silver— 

Old Lady. [As all three of them turn to walk 
off the platform.'] Fm an old, old woman, and all 
my life long I’ve been looking for a God-Who- 
Satisfies. I’ve been so hungry for him! But the 
idols seem to mock me, they seem to say: Here’s 
an old women who is soon going to die. No use 
troubling with her — 

Miss Kimball. [Helping her to walk by sup¬ 
porting her arm.] Maybe there is a God-Who- 
Satisfies. I am young, I will look for him, and if 
I find him I will surely let you know. [Exit.] 
Japanese Mother. [Calling after them.] And 
let me know, too! Let me know, too! [Exit.] 
[Auditorium and platform again darkened; or 
else curtain falls.] 

SCENE III: Instantly remove idol, joss-sticks, red 
scarf, pedestal, basin and dipper. Place table 
against rear wall of platform, arranging on it 
a number of rolls of wall-paper or any scrolls 
which will represent the sacred Buddhist writ¬ 
ings. The round ends should face the audi¬ 
ence. An ornate Japanese screen should be 
either behind this table or beside it, depend¬ 
ing on the size and height of screen. Seated 
on the floor before it should be a Buddhist 
priest in a saffron yellow robe. Since he does 
not have to stand, this need not be a made cos¬ 
tume but simply several yards of stiff and 
shiny yellow lining material arranged to look 
[ 41 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

like a kimono. If possible, decorate with gold 
paint brought out by black outlines. His 
head may be bald, an effect produced by a 
tight-fitting flesh-colored bathing cap. The 
palms of his hands are brought together, 
flat, with a rosary of brown beads hanging 
between them. As this scene begins, he is 
seen lost in meditation, eyes shut, murmuring 
over and over the name (£ Buddha! Buddha!” 
{softly). 

Enter Miss Kimball. [Timidly approaches 
him, kneels before him and bows her head to the 
floor, before she says:] Oh, Venerable Abbot, may 
a miserable woman in great trouble dare to in¬ 
terrupt your meditations with her own burning 
questions? 

Buddhist Priest. [Opens his eyes very, very 
slowly, his lips still moving in prayer. Then 
lowers his hands, and says with a resigned expres¬ 
sion:] Woman, what is it? 

Miss Kimball. Oh, sire, in health one thinks of 
cherry blossoms and the new-born freshness of the 
day. But I, alas, am full of pain and cannot help 
but dwell on death and the hereafter. I seek the 
God-Who-Satisfies. So I come to you in trouble. 
Condescend to tell me from your ancient sacred 
books of Buddha, what hope is there for sinful 
mortals when they die? 

Buddhist Priest. [Slowly reaches behind him, 
selects one of the several dozen scrolls.] Woman, 
it is not given to the female mind to comprehend 
the whole of life, but listen while I tell you what 
[ 42 ] 


KIMONO 


the Buddhist scriptures have to say about it. 
[Unrolls scroll, and glancing at it occasionally to 
refresh his memory, says:] For I read here that 
life is very much like a man walking through a 
field and meeting an angry elephant which begins 
to chase him. In his haste to escape, the man sees 
a large dry well with vines growing over it, so he 
takes hold of a vine and swings himself down into 
the well, still clinging to the vine. He looks up, 
and there is the angry elephant! He looks down, 
and there at the bottom of the well is a great 
snake with its mouth wide open ready to devour 
him as soon as the vine shall break. All around 
him in the well are beautiful flowers growing, but 
under such conditions he has no interest in flowers, 
for presently at the top of the well a little white 
mouse comes out and begins to gnaw away at the 
vine, while beneath him a little black mouse sud¬ 
denly begins to gnaw away the lower end of the 
vine. 

Miss Kimball . [Shudders and covers her face 
with her hands while he is talking . When he has 
finished, she says:] Oh, sire, that is a gruesome 
picture! Could you honorably deign to explain it 
to me? 

Buddhist Priest. Woman, the great mad ele¬ 
phant represents Fate, which chases us each 
through life. The large snake at the bottom of 
the well is Death, to which each of us must come, 
sooner or later. The vine represents the thread of 
Hfe; while the white and black mice represent 
day and night which gnaw unceasingly at our 
[ 43 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

thread of life. You see, therefore, what sheer 
folly it is to spend time in admiring mere flowers, 
with such a fate before you. The only hope, of 
course, is Buddha’s noble Eight-fold Path, for 
unless one shuns the world what hope is there on 
dying except to be born again into some lower 
animal? Woman, I know of no words so satisfy¬ 
ing in my religion as inaction, indifference and 
apathy. They are the only hope we have! [He 
rolls up his scroll, replaces it. Picks up his 
beads, places them between the palms of his hands, 
closes his eyes and murmurs:] Buddha! Buddha! 
Buddha! etc. 

Miss Kimball. Satisfying?—Inaction! Indif¬ 
ference! Apathy! Our only hope. . . . Oh, mis¬ 
erable woman that I am, so full of sin, so soon to 
die and be an insect or a toad. Oh, that I knew 
where I might find true peace. [ Rising, bows rev¬ 
erently to the inattentive priest.] There are four 
times ten thousand idols in Japan, which one will 
really satisfy me? How shall I ever know which 
shrine to visit? How dark life is with doubts, and 
fears, and pain! [Exit, head bent over, resting 
chin on her clasped hands. Platform and audi¬ 
torium darkened, or curtain down.] 

SCENE IV: Remove Japanese screens, also scrolls. 
Place the table back in its original position 
against the side wall. It would be a splendid 
touch of local color if you could erect a good- 
sized torii before the exit, through which Miss 
Kimball could then go to her Shinto shrine. 

[ 44 ] 


KIMONO 


This is not necessary, however, although it is 
quite possible to build one up from strips of 
stiff brown cardboard tacked on four clothes’ 
props, two upright, and two horizontal. 

When this scene opens Miss Kimball is just 
reaching in the sleeve of her kimono to re¬ 
move a paper sin-bearer, in shape somewhat 
like a kimono with a head at the top; four 
inches. 

Miss Kimball. [Looking at the paper ear¬ 
nestly.] Such a little piece of paper! And yet 
the Shinto priest assured me that my sins would 
certainly enter into it if I kept it these three days. 
[Holds it up, thus enabling the audience to see the 
shape.] My sin-bearer! At last the three days 
are over and I can take it to the priest with a piece 
of money so that he can safely transfer my sins 
. . . my sins! Oh, surely then I shall feel satis¬ 
fied! [Exit.] 

Missionary and Japanese Bible Woman (in 
kimono) who have been seated in the front 
row, of the audience now rise and go up on 
the platform, with Bibles in their hands. 
They walk to the corner of the platform far¬ 
thest from the exit where Miss Kimball just 
disappeared.] 

Missionary. Ume San, if we hold a street service 
first it will be sure to attract some of the children 
and the grown-ups who pass by, so suppose you 
sing a hymn, my dear. 

Bible Woman. [Sings to tune “Consolator” 
(Alma).] 


[ 45 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

“Come, ye disconsolate, where’er ye languish, 
Come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel; 

Here bring your wounded hearts, 

Here tell your anguish; 

Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.” 

[Enter group of little Japanese children (in gay 
kimonos and sashes); they flock through the 
doorway clapping their hands and skipping up 
and down with rapture :] 

Oh, it’s the Sunday-school Lady! It’s the Sun¬ 
day-school Lady! [When they reach the Mis¬ 
sionary they each how far over until their heads 
almost touch the floor .] 

[ifiss Kimhall also enters, wiping her eyes.\ 
Missionary. [Aods to the children, patting them 
on their heads or shoulders.] Ume San will tell 
you a Jesus-story, my dears, so you all go inside 
the chapel with her while I speak to this lady over 
here. 

[Exit Bible Woman and children. 
Missionary. [To Miss Kimball.] Honorably 
pardon me, but perhaps there is something I can 
do for you—I cannot help noticing that you are in 
trouble. 

Miss Kimball. Ah, yes, I am a miserable woman 
indeed, just when I hoped to be happiest. For this 
is the day in June when pious Shintoists may lose 
their sins. So to-day I, too, took my little paper 
sin-bearer to the Shinto priest. I gave him a coin 
so that he could surely transfer all my sins into 
it, and then I watched him throw the little paper 
[ 46 ] 


KIMONO 


in the river. Oh, Excellency, when I saw the little 
blue waves come lapping at it I was so thrilled! 
I almost shouted! “Hurry! Hurry! Have you no 
swift current to bear away little pieces of paper 
forever and forever!” And then the current did 
suck it in—away it swirled and eddied, away and 
away and away it floated until it was clear out of 
sight. But I, who had expected to be so happy, 
am the same poor hopeless woman. Listen—what 
is that? 

[Bible Woman and children stand in doorway 
singing second verse of hymn:] 

“Joy of the desolate, light of the straying, 

Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure, 

Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying 

‘Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure.’ ” 

Miss Kimball. [Clutching the Missionary’s 
arm.] Did you hear that? Can it be true? A 
Comforter? 

Missionary. Oh, a thousand times true! Have 
you never heard of the Saviour? Our Christian 
Bible tells about Him; and if you had known, 
surely you would not have used a little paper 
sin-bearer, for listen to this: [Opens Bible at I 
Peter 2.] “Who His own self bare our sins in His 
own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, 
should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes 
ye were healed.” 

Miss Kimball. His own self bare my sins? To 
heal me? Oh, I have been hungry for this! He 
[47] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

must be the God-Who-Satisfies. Tell me, how long 
have you known about Him? 

Missionary. All my life—ever since I was a 
little girl. 

Miss Kimball. Then why didn’t you come 
sooner? Why, I might have died without this 
comfort you have honorably brought me now. 
Why haven’t I heard all this long, long ago? 

Missionary. Ah, I wanted to come! But there 
was no money to send me. Too many people in 
my home country kept saying to me that you had 
your own gods, that you were satisfied with them — 

Miss Kimball. [ Bitterly, her hands clasped in 
anguish .] Satisfied? Satisfied? With idols of 
cold polished brass? With gods carved from tree 
trunks? Satisfied? Oh, what were your friends 
thinking of? I have hungered and thirsted for 
peace like this all my life. 

[Bible Woman and children sing third verse:] 

a Here see the Bread of Life, see waters flowing 

Forth from the throne of God, pure from above; 

Come to the feast of love, come, ever knowing 

Earth has no sorrow but heaven can remove.” 

Missionary. [Linking her arm in Miss Kim¬ 
ball’s.] Come! [Exit. Auditorium darkened; or, 
curtain falls.] 


SCENE V: Torii removed. Telephone replaced on 
table as in Scene I. Miss Kimball asleep on 
her sofa, as before.] 


KIMONO 


Miss Kimball. [ Awakes. Sits up. Looks 
around in a dazed sort of fashion .] But where is 
the missionary? Where are all those cunning 
children? [Arises and hurries across the room, 
searching. Then looks at the watch suspended 
around her neck.] Only ten minutes since I lay 
down? Impossible! [Holds watch against her 
ear to see if it is still going.] Then I must have 
been dreaming—and yet it was all too dreadfully 
real! I was too unhappy. . . . Unhappy? Ah, 
yes, unhappy indeed. [Miss Kimball then goes to 

the telephone.] Central, please give me the- 

Church. Hello, Hello. Is Mrs. Thurston still 
there? Oh, Mrs. Thurston, this is Lucy Kimball 
again. I just wanted to say that I shall be very 
glad to join your mission study class, after all. 

Mrs. Thurston. You will? Oh, that’s perfectly 
splendid. I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind. 

Miss Kimball. Oh, yes, I’ve changed it, all 
right. I think I owe it to myself to say that I even 
take back all I said before—about not believing in 
missions, you know. And about the idols of the 
Japanese being good enough for them. For it isn’t 
so, Mrs. Thurston, it isn’t so! 

Mrs. Thurston. Of course it isn’t! But I’d just 
love to know what made you change your mind 
within less than fifteen minutes, Miss Kimball! 

Miss Kimball. [ Hesitates, fingering her kimono 
with her spare hand.] Well, I think maybe it was 
actually living inside a kimono for a little while! 
It makes all the difference in the world, you see. 
I suddenly knew just how it felt. And Mrs. 

[ 49 ] 



SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Thurston, when we have our first meeting, could 
we please sing hymn number—[ mention actual 
number in your hymnal .] It seems to me so 
peculiarly appropriate to a study of Shintoism? 
Good-by until Tuesday. 

Mrs. Thurston. [Puts down the telephone. 
Rises and says to audience :] May we not close our 
meeting by singing it now together, softly, “I Lay 
My Sins on Jesus.” Hymn number —? I think 
it will show to each of us the blessings which we, 
too, have been taking for granted. All three 
verses, please. [Tune, “Elim” or “Wellesley.”] 

CURTAIN 


[ 50 ] 


THE LATEST VICTOR RECORD 


IN ONE SCENE, LAID IN INDIA; SEVENTEEN CHARAC¬ 
TERS; SIX PRINCIPAL SPEAKING PARTS 

The Cast: 

Bible Woman. 

Missionary. 

Two Hindu boys, eight or nine years old. 

Sugunamma, an Indian woman convert. 

Pitchaya, her husband. 

Old white-haired convert (man). 

Little girl, widow. 

Group of nine or ten Hindus. 

Directions : 

A few palms and ferns of varying sizes should 
be seen in front of a tent arranged at the back of 
the platform, in a diagonal position. A movable 
blackboard on castors (or one of those movable 
frameworks with hooks used as coat racks in 
churches) will make an excellent “backbone” for 
this tent, with two sheets sewed together for the 
sides,—the seam to be fastened with thumb-tacks 
along the top of the blackboard, after which the 
sheets are to be stretched out as taut as possible 
to form the tent sides. Fasten the ends with 
twine, of course; heavy irons may be used as 
weights to which these ends are tied. 

[ 51 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

As the play opens, the Bible Woman (draped in 
a white sari) comes out of the tent carrying a 
folded camp stool, which she takes to one side of 
the platform and opens. Beturning to the tent, 
she reaches inside and lifts out a small Victor 
talking-machine; carries it over and places it on 
the camp stool. Disappears inside of tent. 

[Two small Hindu boys (brown stockings, no 
shoes, white trousers, white collarless shirts, 
one boy with broad red girdle, other boy with 
broad yellow girdle, each with big white tur¬ 
ban) who have been sitting on the front seat 
with the audience, now climb the platform 
steps and tiptoe near the Victor machine, evi¬ 
dently nervous. Frequently stop and start to 
retreat, then proceed. First Hindu Boy is 
ahead, turns to look back at Second Hindu 
Boy and beckons with his elbow: <( Hurry up!” 
Bible Woman makes a slight noise inside the 
tent; both boys scamper frantically back to 
the platform steps. Second Boy gets all the 
way down to the floor of auditorium; First 
Boy, braver, turns to look back. Seeing no¬ 
body, he hisses at his chum below.] 

First Boy. ’Sst! ? Sst! Come on—it’s safe! 

[Second Boy climbs the steps and very gingerly 
ventures back to the Victor machine after the 
First Boy. With rapt curiosity they tiptoe 
in a complete circle around the machine, their 
hands behind their backs, their necks craned 
forward .] 


[ 52 ] 


THE LATEST VICTOR RECORD 

First Boy. [Shaking his head, dubiously.] 
Queer thing, isn’t it? 

Second Boy. [Scratching his heady nonplussed .] 
But what is it—the white woman’s idol? 

First Boy. Oh, no, I don’t think it’s an idol. 
But I tell you what I think it is. I think it’s the 
white woman’s husband! She keeps him hidden 
in that little box. 

Second Boy. [Startled, retreats a foot or two.] 
Mercy on us, her husband? But how do you 
know? He must be a very little man! 

First Boy. [Nodding his head wisely.] Well, 
he may be very little, but he has a perfectly enor¬ 
mous voice. Just wait till you hear him sing. 
He’s a very obliging person; he doesn’t seem to 
mind being cooped up in a little box, for just as 
soon as the white woman feeds him something on 
a round black plate he begins singing and singing 
and singing. You wait! 

[Both boys retreat to the platform steps where 
they sit down. Bible Woman comes out of 
the tent carrying large colored Sunday-school 
wall scroll. Unrolls it and hangs it on a nail 
projecting from the end of blackboard inside 
tent. Missionary also comes out of the tent 
carrying a black Victor record. Any inap¬ 
propriate record will do, provided it is sung 
by a man’s voice.] 

Missionary. Time to start the music? 

Bible Woman. Yes, Amma, it always helps to 
draw the crowd! 

Missionary. [Looking down at the record in 
[ 53 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

her hand.] This is the last record left. These 
trips in the bullock cart have been so jolting and 
rough that all my really nice discs have been 
broken. I must write home to America for some 
new ones, for I wonder what the members of my 
church in America would think if they knew that 
when I go touring I have to start evangelistic 
services with [mention name of record ]! The 
good deacons would simply faint! [Puts record 
on the machine, and winds it.] 

Bible Woman . But none of us speak English, 
Amma, so who will ever know what the words say? 

Missionary. Ah, luckily! Luckily! Well, here 
goes. [ Starts noisy music. Screws up her face 
to show distaste, and laughingly covers her ears.] 
[The two boys on the steps have been nudging 
and pointing ever since the Missionary came 
out of the tent with the record; but now, from 
sheer excitement, they jump up and begin 
clapping their hands. Missionary sees them 
and beckons enticingly, walking over toward 
them. Both boys, terrified, retreat down the 
steps to the floor of auditorium! While record 
is playing various Hindus come sauntering 
down the church aisles, and go up on the plat¬ 
form. Other Hindus enter by door on plat¬ 
form. The missionary greets them; they all 
salaam to her (touch hand to forehead, bow¬ 
ing) and then seat themselves on the floor, 
children in front, men next, women in the 
rear. A few women standing in rear. A few 
men, curious but aloof, remain by entrance 
[ 54 ] 


THE LATEST VICTOR RECORD 

door. (The men may be dressed according to 
directions for the small Hindu boys.) The 
two boys cautiously join the crowd. When 
the record is finished, the Bible Woman sings: 
“I Love to Tell the Story.”] 

Missionary. I am glad to see so many of you 
here to-night, for I have come all the long way 
from America to bring you good news. I wonder, 
haven’t you ever been hungry in your heart of 
hearts for a God of Love? 

[Everybody in the crowd nods; here and there a 
few of them murmur:] 

Oh, yes, mem-sahib. 

Woman in Rear. [Pointing.] Mem-sahib, don’t 
those shoes hurt your feet? 

Missionary. [Pays no attention to this inter¬ 
ruption.] Last night I told you about the life of 
Jesus Christ, and all day long I have been talking 
with many of you in your homes about this God 
of Love. But to-night I want you to hear how this 
same Jesus has brought peace and gladness into 
the hearts of all who serve Him. Sugunamma, 
won’t you come forward and speak first? 

[As Sugunamma is making her way from the 
back of the crowd toward the front , a woman 
says to her neighbor , pointing at the mis¬ 
sionary:] 

I never saw a white woman before. You don’t 
suppose she’s white all over, do you? 

Other Woman. [Scornfully.] Simpleton that 
you are, of course not! Could she live if she were 
white all over? Just her face and neck and hands 
[ 55 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

are white. They bleached in the hot sun, of course. 
That’s what comes of traveling around in bullock 
carts instead of staying at home. 

First Woman . Poor thing! And she seems so 
nice! 

Other Woman. ’Sh! Sugunamma is speaking. 

Sugunamma. Amma has asked me to tell you 
my history. Some of you know it, because I have 
always lived in this town. Well, one day I was 
kneeling in the door yard grinding the grain for 
the evening meal when suddenly a woman stood 
beside me and said: “I have come to bring you 
Jesus.” But wasn’t I foolish? I said: “Go away, 
I am too busy. My husband will soon be coming 
for supper. I have no time for any Jesus.” But 
she did not go away. She talked to me while I 
prepared the meal, and every word she said was a 
little bit of heaven to me. For I never had a 
heaven before! What Hindu woman who does not 
know that when she dies the gods will send her 
back to earth to be reborn as some animal? Well, 
when I found out that Jesus had made a Town of 
God for women too, I said: “I want to get down 
into this new religion.” And I did get down. But 
my husband did not like it. Why should he? For 
he was a maker of idols. All day he sat and 
carved a piece of wood with a knife. He did not 
like to hear that anybody worshiped a God who 
could neither be seen nor handled. Again and 
again he beat me until I was covered with bruises. 
He said I was never to mention the name of Jesus 
again. He burned my Bible. But he could not 
[ 56 ] 


THE LATEST VICTOR RECORD 

burn the new peace in my heart. [ Puts hand on 
heart.] The name of Jesus was written there, and 
I sang Jesus songs as I worked. So by and by 
when he saw how truly happy I was, he stopped 
hitting me and asked questions. Then he, too, 
became a Christian. There he is now, you can see 
him for yourself. [She points to one of the men 
standing by the door. The entire crowd turns 
to look. One or two of them whisper about 
him.] 

Missionary. Pitchaya, haven’t you something to 
say for yourself? Sugunamma has just told how 
she became a Christian. 

Pitchaya. [Comes forward, touching his right 
hand against his forehead .] Salaam, Amma, did 
Sugunamma tell how blind I was at first? Al¬ 
though I think I always knew as I carved my 
wooden idols that they were just sticks of wood: 
I could make them! I could burn them! So how 
could they really save me, if they could not save 
themselves? Yet the blindness that I had, our 
Hindu neighbors also had when I finally turned 
Christian. They were furious at me for daring to 
break caste. They threw mud at me when I 
walked in the streets. They would not sell me 
food in the bazaar. They poisoned the water in 
our water jars. We knew what it was to be hun¬ 
gry and thirsty for weeks at a time; for my only 
trade was carving images, so how else could I earn 
a living? Our neighbors grew more fanatic; they 
burned my house to the ground. No man would 
speak to me. I was homeless and friendless and 
[ 57 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

hungry; yet I remembered that when Jesus was 
here among men, He often had no place to lay His 
head, either, and I was happy. I was very happy! 
Now was that not strange? But it was God’s 
peace in my heart. I went out where the outcastes 
lived. I built a little mud hut. I white-washed it. 
I lived with those outcastes whom I used to de¬ 
spise. I told them about God’s peace. Several of 
them white-washed their little huts, too. They had 
never been happy, yet now they were happy. All 
I did was to tell them about Jesus, and they 
listened. 

Old Man. [Gets to his feet.] I am one of the 
men whom Pitchaya told. All my life I had been 
climbing high mountains hoping to find peace like 
the peace that Jesus gives. All my life I had been 
traveling to shrines and kneeling before the idols 
and bathing in sacred rivers seeking this same 
peace. Curious! One day I was an old, old man, 
discouraged and down-hearted. The next day, 
Pitchaya brought me peace. It is like that always, 
when you get down into this religion. 

Several others nod. Yes, Yes! That is true! 

Missionary. Won’t those of you who know the 
Saviour come here to stand beside us, as Christian 
witnesses to the gospel? 

[Two or three come forward to join the group 
composed of the Missionary, Bible Woman, 
Sugunamma, Pitchaya, Old Man.] 

Little Girl. [In rear, springs to her feet.] Oh, 
Amma, can I come? Can I come? I am the little 
widow, Amma, but I do love Jesus dearly! 

[ 58 ] 


THE LATEST VICTOR RECORD 

Missionary. [Holding out her hands.] It was 

for such as you the Saviour died! Come, dear! 

[The little widow joins the group standing. 
They all sing to tune “Stephanos ”:] 

1. “Art thou weary, art thou languid, 

Art thou sore distressed? 

‘Come to me/ saith One, ‘and coming 
Be at rest.’ ” 


[The remaining verses are to be sung as a ques¬ 
tion from the crowd, and an answer from the 
group of Christians. If possible have a dif¬ 
ferent Hindu to sing the question part of each 
verse; otherwise, one Hindu singer may sing 
the first two lines, the Christians always sing¬ 
ing the last two lines.] 


Hindu. 2. 

Christians. 

Hindu. 3. 

Christians. 
Hindu. 4. 

Christians. 


“Hath He marks to lead me to 
Him 

If He be my guide?” 

“In His feet and hands are 
wound-prints, 

And His side.” 

“Is there diadem, as monarch, 
Which His brow adorns?” 

“Yea, a crown in very surety, 
But of thorns.” 

“If I find Him, if I follow, 
What His guerdon here?” 
“Many a sorrow, many a labor, 
Many a tear.” 

[59] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Hindu. 5. “If I ask Him to receive me, 

Will He say me nay?” 

Christians . “Not till earth, and not till 

heaven 
Pass away.” 

Hindu. 6. “Finding, following, keeping, 

struggling, 

Is He sure to bless?” 

Christians. “Saints, apostles, prophets, mar¬ 
tyrs, 

Answer Wes!’ ” 

Missionary. [Praying.] Oh, thou great Father 
of us all, here are Thy human victor records, sing¬ 
ing everywhere in India the riches of life in Christ 
Jesus. Have they not overcome persecution and 
fire and sword for Thy sake? Have they not come 
out more than victors? Oh, grant that wherever 
there may be questioning troubled hearts in India 
to-night, right there may be some child of Thine 
to answer: “Yes, oh, yes, finding, following, keep¬ 
ing, struggling, He is sure to bless.” Watch over 
us as we go to our homes, and grant us each rest 
and strength to do one more day’s work for Jesus. 
Amen. 

[As she says the words, “one more day’s work ,” 
a violin, or a piano, should very, very softly 
play through the tune of “One More Day’s 
Work for Jesus,” just once.] 

CURTAIN 


[ 60 ] 


JUST SUPPOSE 


ONE SCENE, GIVING FOUR EPISODES IN INDIA; TEN 
CHARACTERS; TEN SPEAKING PARTS 

The Cast : 

American Mother. 

Alice, her oldest daughter, fifteen years old. 
Dorothy, another daughter, eleven years old. 
Tom, her son, nine years old. 

Mary Louise, her youngest daughter, six years old. 
Hindu mother. 

Hindu aunt. 

First Hindu woman. 

Second Hindu woman. 

Third Hindu woman. 

Directions : 

In the latter half of this play a double-panel 
effect is to be secured, the American mother read¬ 
ing in her chair at one side of the platform while 
her children, as Hindus, enact various scenes in 
India at the opposite side of the platform as she 
faces them. Therefore arrange a library table on 
whichever side is furthest from the exit door, with 
a rocking chair beside it for the mother, and two 
other chairs for Dorothy and Tom. A softly 
shaded electric lamp should give the only light on 
the platform. There need be no change of scene 
[ 61 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

t 

for India, but (1) have several brass bowls against 
the walls in readiness for the Hindu family to 
beat, (2) have a screen to cover an immense Hindu 
idol on a table. See first chapter on costumes for 
directions for making an idol. 

When the play opens the American mother is in 
the rocking-chair, mending stockings. Tom sits 
with his elbows on the table, studying a geography 
held propped before him. Dorothy is curled up 
in her armchair reading a story-book. Both chil¬ 
dren may have their speeches secreted in their 
books to refresh their memories, their mother may 
have hers hidden in a work basket. 

Tom. [Tilting the propped geography against 
his coat as he recites from memory :] Let’s see 
now—India is bounded on the east by the Bay of 
Bengal, on the north by Tibet and Afghanistan, 
on the west by Baluchistan and the Arabian Sea, 
on the south by the Indian Ocean. Population, 
three hundred and fifteen millions. [Sneezes. 
Lays geography flat on the table; uses his hand¬ 
kerchief. Then continues :] Where was I, now? 
Oh, yes, the principal cities are Madras, Bombay 
and Calcutta . . . Madras, Bombay, Calcut— 
[Sneezes. Again gets out his handkerchief.] 

Mother. [Puts down her mending.] Tom, are 
you catching cold? 

Tom. [Shaking his head vigorously.] No, 
mother; honest Injun! But it’s enough to make a 
fellow sick to see Dorothy there reading a story¬ 
book while I’m here studying my very head off! 
Huh! 


[ 62 ] 


JUST SUPPOSE 


Dorothy. [Calmly turning a page.] Well, if I 
got all my lessons this afternoon, why notf 
Tom. [Glancing daggers at her.] And the 
principal rivers are the Ganges and— [Sneezes.] 
Mother. Really, Tom, you must be catching 
cold. [Then, seeing Alice enter in hat and coat 
with books in her arms.] Why, Alice, where are 
you going, dear? 

Alice. [Putting on her gloves.] It’s our girl’s 
missionary meeting at the church, mother, don’t 
you remember? 

Mother. Alice, this has got to stop! You’re out 
every single night—parties, movies, concerts, and 
now the church. It’s got to stop. I want you to 
take off your hat and coat at once. 

Alice. But, mother dear, it’s Friday night; 
there’s no school to-morrow, and you wanted me 
to go to the concert with you. You said it was 
educational! And this meeting is educational, 
too. It’s all about India to-night, and I’m afraid 
I’ll really have to go because I promised to give 
one of the principal papers. It’s on the little 
widows of India. Oh, mother, surely you remem¬ 
ber that we always, always, always, meet at the 
church on the first Friday evening of every month. 
It’s only from seven-thirty to eight-thirty, and I’ll 
hurry home right afterwards; but I really don’t 
see how I can disappoint the leader this time when 
I’m one of her principal speakers. It wouldn’t be 
India if nobody told about the widows — 

Mother. [Laughing.] Widows? Well, really, 
Alice, I should think they would get somebody 
[ 63 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

older to discuss such a topic! I suppose you will 
have to go this time, if they are counting on you, 
hut I must say I think they ought to grade the 
material to suit the ages of the members. You 
and widows, indeed! 

Alice. But, mother, those widows are just tiny 
girls, lots younger than I am. Why, millions and 
millions of girls in India marry when they are 
years younger than I am! 

Mother. [Severely.] Really, Alice, how often 
must I warn you against exaggerating merely to 
prove your point. You are only fifteen, my dear, 
so you had better not go to your meeting and an¬ 
nounce that India is full of millions of little wives 
and widows younger than you. The other girls 
will begin to doubt the rest of the things you say, 
too. 

Alice. [Pulls a payer out of her coat pocket.] 
But that’s the truth, mother. Didn’t you honestly 
know it before? Here are the statistics which I 
copied from one of the latest books on India—of 
course, I’m not going to read these figures at the 
meeting, I’m going to drape myself in some colored 
cheesecloth and pretend to be a little girl widow 
myself, telling my life story and just work in the 
statistics casually, but the fact is that there are 
2,500,000 girls married under ten years of age. 

Tom. Why, that’s as many people as are in 
Chicago, if I remember rightly. 

Dorothy. Oh, mother, just suppose Chicago was 
entirely made up of those little Hindu girl wives 
under ten years old—wouldn’t it be a queer sight? 

[64] 


JUST SUPPOSE 


Alice. And that’s not the worst of it, for about 
150,000 of those girls are widows under ten years 
of age! 

Tom. Let’s see now, what city has 150,000 in¬ 
habitants? I’m sort of shaky on populations, but 
I think that Troy is about that size. 

Dorothy. Just suppose Troy was all widows! 
Wouldn’t it be dreadful? 

Alice. [Consulting her paper.] And 19,500 of 
them would be under five years of age. It’s horrid 
to think of it, isn’t it? 

Mother. It certainly is! And now, dearest, 
since you’ve pledged yourself to be at that meet¬ 
ing you’d better run along, for it’s getting late; 
but before you go I want to say, very definitely, 
that I don’t think you have any business getting 
yourself all worked up trying to settle things on 
the other side of the world which really don’t con¬ 
cern you at all. India is India, and America is 
America. So from now on I can’t allow you to 
spend so much time on these unimportant details 
when there’s your schoolwork to be done and your 
music to be practiced. 

Alice. [Kissing her good-by.] But, mother, 
just suppose I was one of those girl widows my¬ 
self. It wouldn’t seem so unimportant then, 
would it? 

Mother. Nonsense, child! Don’t grow emo¬ 
tional over such absurd suppositions. Hurry 
along now. We’ll finish this conversation when 
you get back. 

Alice. [Putting her books on the table.] I 
[65] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

think I won’t need my books, after all. I know 
them by heart. Good-by! [Exit.] 

[Enter Mary Louise in pajamas. Opens mouth 
in wide yawns, stretching her arms sleepily.] 
Mummy, I guess you just forgot all about me, 
so here I come to say my prayers. 

Mother. [Holding out her arms.] My precious 
little Mary Louise! You aren’t even buttoned up 
quite right, darling. [Re-buttons the pajamas.] 
Mary Louise. [Kneeling at her mother’s knee.] 

“Now I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep, 

If I should die before I wake 
I pray the Lord my soul to take, 

And this I ask for Jesus’ sake. Amen.” 

Mary Louise. [Starts to get up, then kneels 
again, adding:] And, oh, Jesus, won’t you please 
bless every single one of those little brown chil¬ 
dren in India to-night? Amen. 

Mother. [Holding Mary Louise in her arms to 
kiss her.] India! India! India! what’s struck my 
family to-night, anyhow? First Tom, then Alice, 
then you! 

Mary Louise. [Kisses Tom and Dorothy.] 
Alice told me about how little brown girls like me 
worship idols, Mummy. Horrid big wooden idols. 

Mother. [Gathering Mary Louise’s hand in 
hers.] Poor Alice certainly has India on the 
brain. Come, dear, we’ll go to bed now. [Exit.] 

[Tom sneezes. 


[ 66 ] 


JUST SUPPOSE 


Dorothy. Tom, you are catching cold! 

Tom. [Wiping his nose.] Oh, forget it, Dot! 
What’s a little thing like a cold when I’ve got the 
most awful big tummy ache and don’t dare tell 
mother! [Rubs stomach and groans tragically; 
looks significantly at Dorothy as he says the 
comical word:] Jam! 

Dorothy. [With a superior smile.] Boys have 
so little sense! 

Tom. [Groaning miserably.] Thank you for 
your loving sympathy! ’Sh! [Studies.] 

[Enter Mother. Resumes her sewing. 

Dorothy. [Looking up from her book.] Mother, 
what does tro-us-see-oh mean? 

Mother. Tro-us-see-oh? Why, I never heard of 
it, dear; spell it. 

Dorothy. It’s here in my story, though! 
T-r-o-u-s-s-e-a-u. 

Mother. [Laughing.] Oh, trousseau! That 
means the new linens and clothes that a bride gets 
before her wedding. 

Dorothy. [Closing her book.] Do you suppose 
those little brown girl-brides in India have new 
trousseaux, too? 

[Tom sneezes. 

Mother. Tom, you certainly have a cold! Come 
here this minute and let me look at your throat. 

Tom. Oh, mother, my throat’s all right! but 
say, my tummy— 

Mother. [Significantly.] Jam? 

[Tom nodding dismally and rubbing his stomach. 

Mother. [Rising.] You’re old enough to know 
[ 67 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

better, Tom! But since you will eat the wrong 
things, at least you know what medicine to take. 
A good night’s sleep afterward, and you’ll be a 
wiser boy by morning, I hope. Come on! 

[Exit Mother and Tom. Tom makes a wry face 
over his shoulder at Dorothy .] 

Dorothy. [Closes her hooky rising.] I might as 
well go upstairs, too. [Exit.] 

[Enter Mother, picks up Alice’s hooks from the 
table , reading the titles aloud:] 

“India Awakening,” by Sherwood Eddy; “Build¬ 
ing with India,” by Dr. Fleming; “Things as They 
Are,” by Lucy Carmichael. I’ll just look this 
last book over while I wait for Alice to come 
home. I shall certainly have to reason with poor 
Alice; it’s all wrong for her to take that mission 
club so seriously. [Reads in silence. Occasionally 
clucks her tongue in sheer dismay as she turns the 
pages.] Oh, surely this can’t be true! Why, just 
suppose it were my own little Mary Louise. 

[As she reads, there is enacted: 


EPISODE I 

[Enter Hindu Mother draped in a lavender 
cheesecloth sari; she moves aside the screen 
which conceals the idol. Behind the scenes a 
hronze dinner gong is being struck sonorously. 
Mother beckons to little Mary Louise, who 
enters draped in a bright-blue cheesecloth 
sari.] 


[ 68 ] 


JUST SUPPOSE 


Come, little one, do you not hear the priest 
booming the temple bell to awaken the idol for 
you? So come and kneel at once before the idol, 
and loop your marigolds around his neck. 

Mary Louise . [Carrying long garland of yellow 

flotvers, backs away from the idol in great fear, 
shaking her head and crying:] No! No! I’m 
afraid of him, mother! 

Hindu Mother . [Shaking the child’s shoulder 

crossly .] You stupid little idiot! Give the idol 
your marigolds this minute! Don’t you see his 
big cross eyes and his strong cruel hands? Who 
knows what he may do to us if we forget to wor¬ 
ship him? And how is your precious little brother 
ever going to get well if we do not make the idol 
feel more kindly disposed to us? Come, do as I 
tell you. [ Gives her a shove toward the idol.] 

[Mary Louise drops the garland in terror and, 
turning, runs toward her American Mother, who 
jlrops her book in her lap, holding out her arms 
crying:] Oh, my little Mary Louise! My little 
Mary Louise! 

Hindu Mother . [Catches Mary Louise by the 
elbow before she gets far across the platform, and 
drags her back to the idol.] Now here’s the 
wreath, you naughty girl. Loop it around the 
idol’s neck quickly. [Mary Louise obeys, sobbing 
in terror.] Now kneel at his feet and repeat your 
prayer: “Oh, thou great all-powerful one” [Mary 
Louise repeats] “deign to make my poor brother 
well.” Now bow your head way over to the ground 
in worship, three times. Now you can get up, for 
[ 69 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

that’s all any mortal can do to please the gods. 
And for mercy’s sake stop your sobbing; there’s 
nothing to cry about, anyhow. [Shakes the child 
crossly, and leads her by the hand from the plat¬ 
form.] 

[Enter Hindu Woman to replace screen around 
the idol shrine. Exit.] 

American Mother. [Breathing quickly and ex¬ 
citedly, holds her clenched hands against her lips 
as if she could not Relieve her eyes.] Thou shalt 
not make unto thee any graven image—thou shalt 
not bow down thyself to them nor worship them— 
oh, my poor little Mary Louise! [Picks up her 
hook again and reads in silence, pursing her lips 
in disapproval as she turns the pages.] What 
perfect ignorance! Oh, the very idea! Just sup¬ 
pose it were my Tom! 


EPISODE II 

[Enter Hindu Mother and Hindu Aunt, carry¬ 
ing Tom, one holding his shoulders, the other 
his feet. Tom wears a turban on his head, 
white trousers and white collarless shirt, 
broad red girdle around his waist, brown 
stockings, no shoes. They lay him on the 
floor.] 

Hindu Mother. Oh, precious Apple-of-My-Eye, 
what ails thee? Have we not been to the temple 
and asked the idol to restore thee? 

Hindu Aunt. He has an evil spirit in him and 
[ 70 ] 


JUST SUPPOSE 


the only thing to do is to frighten it away by 
noise. So let us beat these brass jars as loudly as 
we can. [ She brings over the brass bowls which 
have been standing against the wall, and begins 
clashing two of them together while the mother 
also clashes two, until the din is terrific .] 

[Tom rolls over groaning, rubbing his stomach. 
American Mother covers her ears and closes 
her eyes in great distress.] 

Hindu Mother. [Putting her jars on the floor, 
anxiously feels Tom’s forehead.] Alas! Alas! 
He is worse. 

Hindu Aunt. Then perhaps we had better try 
to shake out the evil spirit. 

[Hindu Mother begins shaking Tom by the 
shoulders, until she stops from apparent ex¬ 
haustion. The Aunt continues the treatment, 
Tom groaning and moaning.] 

Hindu Aunt. It must be a very stubborn evil 
spirit which cannot be either frightened out by 
noise or shaken out. But fire will dislodge him! 
There is nothing like a red hot iron to drive away 
evil spirits. Let us carry the poor boy to the fire 
in the courtyard while I heat some coins red hot. 
[Exit, carrying Tom as before.] 

American Mother. [Starting halfway to her 
feet.] Oh, no! no! Not a red hot iron! You 
foolish women, don’t you realize he has probably 
just eaten something that disagrees with him? 
Yet it is just what this other book says. [Picks 
up a second book and reads aloud:] “How should 
we in America ever bring ourselves to appreciate 
[ 71 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


the appalling fact that every Christian doctor in 
India has literally hundreds of thousands of pos¬ 
sible patients who die by the thousand each day 
from lack of knowledge of the simplest medical 
treatment? Millions upon millions tortured need¬ 
lessly, patiently groaning in double agony both 
from the cure and the disease. . . Oh, Tom! 
Tom! [Reads on in silence, turning page after 
page. Then:] It seems unbelievable! But just 
suppose this were Dorothy, my own little eleven- 
year-old Dorothy. 


EPISODE III 

[Enter Dorothy jubilantly dancing on the plat¬ 
form, spreading out the folds of a gorgeous 
red sari as she admires it.] 

Now what can be the reason of all this? A mar¬ 
velous new sari! Oh, I am too beautiful for 
words! [Smoothes the material happily.] 

[Enter Hindu Aunt with casket of jewelry 
which she places on the floor, opens, and 
starts decorating Dorothy with the contents: 
necklaces galore, bracelets, long dangling ear¬ 
rings, rings, anklets (brass curtain rings tied 
on a string around the ankles jingle and 
glisten splendidly). She arranges a pearl 
necklace, fillet-style around Dorothy’s fore¬ 
head.] 

Dorothy. [Enthusiastically.] Oh, look! look 
at the rings! Several on each finger, and a great 
[ 72 ] 


JUST SUPPOSE 


big one on my thumb. Oh, don’t I look too lovely? 
And necklaces . . . oh! oh! oh! But do tell me, 
why am I being dressed up so beautifully? Is it 
the festival of some idol? Are we going to have a 
feast? Just look at these bracelets—I am a 
dream! [She admires her wrists.] Now tell me, 
why are you making me so splendid? 

Hindu Aunt. [Kneeling on the floor to tie on 
the anklets.] Keep your feet still, you excited 
girl! Well, I really ought not to tell you, yet it 
seems only fair that you should know— 

Dorothy. [Leaning over to pat her head.] 
That’s right, tell me! Tell me! 

Hindu Aunt. [Sitting hack on her heels and 
clasping her hands in anguish.] Dear child, your 
father— 

Dorothy. [Smiling.] Yes? 

Hindu Aunt. Your father has found a husband 
for you, and this is the day when you are to be 
married. 

Dorothy. [Horrified.] Married? But I don’t 
want to be married! I don’t want a husband! 

Hindu Aunt. [Finger on lip.] ’Sh! ’Sh! Your 
father will hear you. He will be very much dis¬ 
pleased for he has spent a lot of money on your 
wedding— 

Dorothy. [Pulling off the rings, bracelets, 
necklaces and flinging them on the floor.] I 
won’t wear these terrible jewels! I won’t get 
married! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t! [Stamps 
her feet. Her anklets jingle. She stoops to untie 
them.] 


[ 73 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Hindu Aunt. [Catching her hand.] Let them 
alone, and do be quieter; some one will certainly 
hear you. 

[Enter Hindu Mother, stands in the doorway, 
surprised.] 

Hindu Mother. What is the matter? 

Dorothy. [Clasping her hands beseechingly.] 
Oh, mother, don't let my father marry me off to 
some dreadful man! I've just begun to go to the 
mission school, mother; I'm just starting to read 
a primer, and there are still books and books and 
books which I haven't read yet. And there's my 
own little place on the school floor; who's going to 
sit on my own little place if I'm not there? Who's 
going to read out of my little primer? Oh, mother, 
I can't get married yet! 

Hindu Mother. [Hands raised in horror.] Tut! 
Tut! Who are you to say I-want-to-this and I- 
want-to-that? Aren't you eleven? Well, it is a 
regular disgrace to have you around unmarried 
any longer. Stand still while I put on these neck¬ 
laces. 

Dorothy. I don't want any horrid old neck¬ 
laces! I don't want any horrid old husband! 
[Dashes from the platform.] 

Hindu Mother. [Sadly shaking her head.] Poor 
child! After all, she is only saying what you and 
I once said when we were little girls. 

Hindu Aunt. [Picking up the jewels and re¬ 
placing them in the casket.] Yes, but that is life! 
In childhood, obey your father; in marriage, obey 
your husband; in old age, obey your eldest son. 

[ 74 ] 


JUST SUPPOSE 


What else is there to look forward to? How can 
she hope to be different from the rest of us? 

Hindu Mother . Alas, that is true! Submission 
is a woman’s fate. She will not rebel long; she 
will get used to the idea. Come, let us find her 
now and force her to go through with the wedding. 
Her father must not hear of this. [Exit.] 

American Mother. [Greatly distressed; points 
at her hook, reading:] Yet here it is in black and 
white—“2,500,000 little girl wives in India under 
fifteen years of age, plunged from childhood into 
womanhood at a moment’s notice, always unwill¬ 
ing, always unready.” Ah, but not my Dorothy! 
Not my Dorothy! [Reads on and on, turning 
pages.] This is what Alice herself told me about 
the girl widows. Just suppose this were Alice! 

EPISODE IY 

[Enter Alice, wearing Hindu sari and many 
jewels. Sound of drum and loud sing-song 
wailing outside. Alice wrings her hands.] 
Oh, what have I done? What have I done that 
this evil should come upon me? Not that I cared 
for that wretched old man,—but he was my hus¬ 
band, then he fell ill, he died; and now the tom¬ 
toms are beating, the mourners are wailing and I 
—I am a widow! [Cowers against the wall in 
terror.] 

[Enter three Hindu women draped in saris.] 
First Hindu Woman. You wicked creature, 
you! [Points her finger scornfully at Alice.] It 
[ 75 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

was your sins that killed him! Somewhere, some¬ 
how, you have displeased the gods and for this 
they have taken away your husband. Bah! [She 
slaps Alice’s cheek.] 

Alice. [Cowering against the wall.] Oh, surely 
it was not my fault. 

Second Woman. [Sneering.] Not her fault, 
listen to her! Of course it’s your fault. It’s al¬ 
ways the woman’s fault when her husband dies; 
don’t our Hindu scriptures say so? Off with those 
grand jewels, you unspeakable widow! 

[The three women pull off the necklaces, brace¬ 
lets, and rings, jostling Alice rudely, hitting 
her with disdain.] 

First Woman. You accursed of gods and men! 

Second Woman. You vile untouchable creature! 
You outcaste! You scum! 

Third Woman. As long as the sun and moon 
endures no one will ever want you near them; your 
very shadow will be undesirable. Come, we will 
shave off your long black hair, then everybody will 
say: “Oh-ho! look at that wicked widow.” 

Alice. [Covering her head with her hands.] 
Oh, no, not my hair! Don’t touch my hair! 

All the Women. Of course we’ll touch it! We’ll 
shave it off, and throw you out of the house. 

Alice. I can go back to my own mother’s house. 

First Woman. Back to your own mother’s 
house? La! La! With what open arms she will 
welcome such an outcaste! 

Second Woman. This is the way she will kiss 
you! [She slaps her face.] 

[ 76 ] 


JUST SUPPOSE 


Third Woman. Oh, don’t be so rough with her. 
You may be a widow yourself some day, with no 
place to lay your head in peace or comfort, with 
everybody ashamed of you. 

Alice. [Bowing her head in her hands.] Oh, 
what have I done? What have I ever done that 
the gods should chasten me like this? [Exit, fol¬ 
lowed by the three women.] 

American Mother. Suppose that were my Alice! 
Just suppose! I used to love to quote the saying 
that, since God could not be everywhere, He made 
mothers. But there seem to be mothers and— 
mothers. Deep in all our hearts the same true 
mother love, but tied about with what ignorance! 
With what superstition! Yet here in this little 
book it mentions God’s present-day solution for 
that ignorance. [Reads:] “Women’s missionary 
societies are the organized motherhood of the 
world.” Ah, yes, I see it now: God does not make 
heathen; He makes little children! Well, I’m 
going to be a mother to all India [enter Mary 
Louise and kneels at her feet] to every little child 
kneeling to idols [enter Tom, who also kneels at 
her feet] to every little child who is sick [enter 
Dorothy; kneels] to all that multitude of little 
girls forced to marry young [enter Alice; kneels] 
to little widows, homeless and abused. [The four 
Hindu children bow their heads in her lap and she 
puts her arms around them all, brooding tenderly 
and saying :] My family! [As they hold this 
tableau, motionless, the family should sing (to 
the tune “Dennis”) :] 


[ 77 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


“Blest be the tie that binds 
Our hearts in Christian love: 

The fellowship of kindred minds 
Is like to that above. 

Before our Father's throne 
We pour our ardent prayers; 

Our fears, our hopes, our aims, are one, 
Our comforts and our cares. 

We share our mutual woes, 

Our mutual burdens bear; 

And often for each other flows 
The sympathizing tear. Amen." 

CURTAIN 


[ 78 ] 


THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH 
THE EARTH 


IN TWO SCENES; AMERICA AND CHINA; ELEVEN 

characters; eleven speaking parts 
The Cast: 

Nancy | ^ W0 y° un 9 American girls. 

Mow Fah Din, eleven-year-old Chinese girl. 

Her grandmother. 

Chinese daughter-in-law. 

Chinese grandson, ten years old. 

Chinese granddaughter, nine years old. 

Chinese aunts and uncles, as many as possible. 

Missionary. 

SCENE I: The Girl Who Fell Through the Earth, 
via America. 

When the play opens Sally is seen trimming a 
hat, trying all the various angles for placing 
hows, feathers and flowers which she takes 
from a hat-hox on the floor at her feet. Oc¬ 
casionally, in her haste to try all possible 
arrangements, she holds a flower or feather 
between her lips. 

[Enter Nancy, wearing sweater and hat. 

Why, how do you do, Miss Samantha Arabella 
[ 79 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Jemima Montmorency! Trimming our own Easter 
hat, I see. Well, Pm glad to find you so eco¬ 
nomical, beloved—no, I can’t sit down, thank you, 
because I’m wondering (now please don’t laugh) 
I’m wondering if you wouldn’t like to fall through 
the earth to-day? 

Sally. [Holding her hat suspended in mid-air, 
startled .] Fall through the earth? Why, Nancy, 
you’re crazy! 

Nancy. [Chuckling.] Not a bit of it, poor old 
dear. For I know a perfectly safe way you can 
fall through into China—or anywhere else, for 
that matter, all for one dollar. 

Sally. Oh, it’s something to buy, is it? A tube 
to run through the earth, or a well-digger, or 
what? 

Nancy. [Primly.] I’m not in a position to 
divulge the secret as yet, madam; although I can 
give you a hint of its wonderful properties when 
I state that it’s sharper than a two-edged sword; 
it’s more precious than rubies; it’s a lamp for 
wandering feet, and it’s bread for the hungry. So 
hand over your dollar, darlint! 

Sally. But, Nancy, you know perfectly well that 
no one thing can be so many other things and still 
cost only a dollar. 

Nancy. [Very mysteriously leaning nearer .] 
Oh, as for that, a dollar buys four of them. Yes 
— four! Or if you want to buy parts, you can get 
twenty-five little bits of it bound separately for a 
dollar. 

Sally. Nancy, you’re ro-mancy! Anyhow, I’m 

[ 80 ] 


THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH THE EARTH 

too poor around Easter time to waste a dollar on 
anything so fabulous. 

Nancy. [Eloquently.] Oh, but we want you to 

fall through the earth especially because it’s 
Easter, my dear. Easter wouldn’t be Easter if it 
weren’t for this particular thing. So give me a 
dollar like a dear little Christian. 

Sally. Tell me what it’s to buy? 

Nancy. [Holding out her hand.] Not till I see 
the green of your dollar bill in my little pink 
palm! And lest you are wavering, let me add that 
this marvelous article has not only carried Easter 
around the world, but it has built all the hospitals 
and orphanages and asylums, and has done more 
to rule the nations than kings or guns or battle¬ 
ships. 

Sally. [Hurries from the room, returns with 
dollar hill.] Here’s the dollar, you mysterious 
girl! And now tell me what “it” is. 

Nancy. [Closing her fingers over the bill, hur¬ 
ries to the door.] You’ll hear to-morrow in 
Sunday-school, dearest. But I thought that as 
long as you didn’t believe in missions I’d nab you 
beforehand. And by the way, do you prefer fall¬ 
ing through in four big parts or in twenty-five 
little bits of parts? 

Sally. [With injured dignity. ] In four big 
parts, if you please; and if I find you’ve hood¬ 
winked me, Nancy Norris, I’ll never speak to you 
again. I don’t believe in throwing dollars through 
the earth recklessly. 

Nancy. [Solemnly.] I haven’t hoodwinked 

[ 81 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


you, dear; and I know you’ll approve on Easter 
Sunday morning. Until then, good-by! [Exit.] 

CURTAIN 


SCENE II: The Girl Who Fell Through the Earth, 
via China. 

When this scene opens the Chinese grandmother 
is seated in a high-hacked carved chair fan¬ 
ning herself. 

Grandmother. [Laying down her fan and clap¬ 
ping her hands, calls crossly :] Mow Fah Din! 
Mow Fah Din, come here and bring me my tea. 

[Enter Mow Fah Din carefully carrying a tray 
containing a tea-pot and cup.] 

Grandmother. You knock-kneed, big-footed slow¬ 
poke, how long am I to wait for you, hey? 

Mow Fah Din. [Pouring the tea into the cup.] 
The water would not boil, most Ancient and Ven¬ 
erable One. [She presents the cup with a little 
how.] 

Grandmother. Don’t mumble your words! I 
can’t understand a word that you say. How do 
you ever expect to get a mother-in-law if you can’t 
talk distinctly? And now tell me, you clumsy 
child, what is that queer white thing over in the 
corner? Speak up, loud and clear, little idiot! 

Mow Fah Din. [Leans near and shouts in her 
grandmother’s ear.] That’s the package of four 
books which the Foreign Lady left, don’t you re¬ 
member? , 


[ 82 ] 


THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH THE EARTH 

Grandmother. Of course I don’t remember, you 
saucy little minx! If I did remember why should 
I ask? Bring the package over here and let me 
see it. What do women want with books, anyhow 
—does that white foreign devil suppose we can 
read? Hurry with the package, you stupid girl. 

Mow Fah Din. [Laying the package on her 
grandmother’s knee, unties the parcel, opens it 
and holds up four Bibles.] Here they are, Ven¬ 
erably Aged! One is for our family, one for the 
Changs, one for the Wongs, one for the Mings. 

Grandmother. [Waving the books away.] Take 
them away! Books are nonsense. What does a 
woman want with a book? But what —what is 
this strange picture on the paper? 

[Mow Fah Din lifts up the piece of wrapping 
paper so that the audience may see that it is 
a map of the world. It will be most satisfac¬ 
tory to draw this by hand,—a great black 
circle inside of which the various countries 
are outlined and colored brightly. A little 
liberty may be taken with the position of the 
countries so that the face may be more strik¬ 
ingly apparent to the audience. Print the 
name of some frequently-advertised article at 
the top,—such as “Ivory Soap” or “Quaker 
Oats.”] 

Grandmother. Well, you empty-headed little 
toad, why don’t you tell me what it’s a picture of? 

Mow Fah Din. [Making a quaint little curtsy.] 
I leave that to your exalted and superior wisdom, 
Most Honorably Revered. What does it look like 
[83] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

to you? [ Holds it up, so that audience may also 
see.] 

Grandmother. [Head tilted at one side, crit¬ 

ically.] It doesn’t look like anything, much. 
Those foreign devils are poor artists. Now let me 
see! Let me see! Ah, I have it—it’s a picture of 
fruit on a round plate! 

Mow Fah Bin. [Giving a delighted skip.] Oh, 
of course! See, this is a pear. [ She points at 
South America.] And this is a-a-a-a— [She 
points at Africa, doubtfully.] 

Grandmother. Speak louder! I can’t hear what 
you say when you mumble along that way. 

Mow Fah Din. [Shouting in her ear.] I didn’t 
really say anything, grandmother. Only, it does 
look rather like an ear, doesn’t it? 

Grandmother. [Snorting disdainfully.] What 
miserable artists those foreign devils must be! 
Imagine painting a pear and an ear on the same 
plate. And I suppose all that stuff at the top is 
grapes. [She sweeps a scornful hand over Eu¬ 
rope’s many little countries.] 

Mow Fah Din. Oh, Venerable Greatness, look 
—it is the picture of a face, and not a plate. See, 
here is the nose in the middle [Florida] ; these are 
the ears [Africa and South America] ; this is the 
hair [Europe and South America], But there 
doesn’t seem to be any mouth. 

Grandmother. [Shuddering.] A face without a 
mouth! What an awful thing! But, Mow Fah 
Din, I tell you what I think, I think it is the pic¬ 
ture of the American’s God. Didn’t that foreign 
[ 84 ] 


THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH THE EARTH 

devil say that she had especially come to tell us 
about her God? Well, here he is! Put him up by 
the stove where our little paper kitchen god is; 
maybe the American’s God will protect our rice 
bowls, too. Put it up, I say! 

Mow Fah Din . [Fastening the piece of wrap¬ 

ping paper on the wall.] Yes, Honorable Grand¬ 
mother. 

Grandmother . What a curious God—to have no 
mouth. 

Mow Fah Din. At least he can’t tell anything 
bad about us to the other gods. 

Grandmother. Now that’s the first smart thing 
you’ve said to-day. Suppose you make an offering 
to him,—some rice in that red-lacquered bowl. 
Quickly! Quickly! What makes you so slow and 
clumsy? 

Mow Fah Din. [Fills the small howl, then 
kneels before the map , reverently hows over three 
times until her forehead touches the floor.] Oh, 
idol of the Foreign Lady, protect our hearth, and 
condescend to be pleased to remain under our un¬ 
worthy roof-tree. 

Grandmother. That’s right! That’s the way to 
say it; the child shows some sense after all. I 
wish I could kneel myself, for it always pays to 
keep these strange idols in a good humor, but 
alas! my miserable back is too stiff for bending. 
Mow Fah Din, where are the eyes of this new 
god? 

Mow Fah Din. [Rising from the floor, looks in 
vain.] He doesn’t seem to have any eyes, Augustly 
[85] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Aged One, unless these are eyes, but I doubt it. 
[And she points at the Great Lakes and the Medi¬ 
terranean Sea.] 

Grandmother . [Wringing her hands nervously, 
and wagging her head peevishly.] I don’t like it I 
I don’t like it! I thought that all gods were so 
eaten up with spiteful curiosity that they spied on 
mortals day and night. A god without eyes is ter¬ 
rifying to me; you must go and fetch that white 
foreign-devil woman at once so that she can teach 
us how to worship her God properly. Well, aren’t 
you going, you little snail? You stupid slow-poke! 
Hurry, hurry! 

[Exit Mow Fall Din% 

[Enter the rest of the Chinese family, big and 
little; they all bow politely to the grand¬ 
mother.] 

Grandmother. Well, I suppose that little chat¬ 
ter-box has told you the dreadful news. Here we 
have a new idol. He has no mouth and he has no 
eyes. I don’t like it! How do we know how the 
spirits in the upper air will feel toward us for 
harboring some one who has no eyes to see us and 
no tongue to tell them all the mischief we have 
been doing? 

A Daughter-in-Law. [Bowing.] Oh, greatly 
respected mother-in-law, nobody could ever have 
anything but good to report of you! 

[The rest of the family look sarcastic at such 
1 obvious flattery; the old lady herself nods 
complacently as if it were only her due!] 

Small Grandson. [Picking up a Bible, runs 

[ 86 ] 


THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH THE EARTH 

over to show his grandmother .] I found this 
book, Honorable Grandparent. 

Grandmother. OH, you bright little grandson! 
You brave little boy! [She pats him on the head.] 

Chorus of the Relatives. [Clasping their hands 
in ecstatic admiration.] Oh, you bright little fel¬ 
low! You brave little fellow. 

Small Granddaughter. [Picking up another 
Bible, runs over to show her grandmother.] And 
I found this book, Honorable Grandparent. 

Grandmother. [Sarcastically, pushing her away.] 
Did you indeed, you silly little copy-cat! Put it 
right back where you found it! Who said you 
could pick it up, you naughty girl? 

Chorus of Relatives. [Sneering at the chagrined 
child.] Yes, who said you could pick it up, you 
naughty girl? v 

[Enter Mow Fah Din with the Missionary. 

Missionary. [Bowing to the Grandmother and 
then to the others.] Mow Fah Din tells me you 
are in trouble—she says yc>u wish to worship my 
God! That is such good news that I have come 
quickly. 

The Relatives. [All bowing profoundly; they 
move forward a chair and say in a chorus :] Hon¬ 
orably condescend to sit! Honorably condescend 
to sit! 

Missionary. [Modestly.] Oh, it is far too im¬ 
portant a chair! Let me sit down here nearer the 
door in one of these more lowly chairs. 

Relatives. [Nodding at one another, in sur¬ 
prise.] She has as good Chinese manners as any 
[ 87 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

of us! She can’t be so foreign a person as we sup¬ 
posed ! 

Grandmother. If you can demean yourself to 
sit on such an unworthy chair I beseech you to sit 
down here beside me at once. For I am an old 
woman, and I am very uneasy about this new god 
on our wall. He has no eyes! He has no mouth! 
He frightens me! I do not like this new religion 
which you have brought us. Oh, do not stand on 
ceremony; come here and sit by me if you hon¬ 
orably will deign to favor my roof-tree— 

Missionary. [Seating herself in the seat of 
honor, saying modestly ;] Well, if you insist! But 
it is a great courtesy on your part! And now, 
what is this you tell me about a god on the wall? 

Entire Family. [Pointing.] There! 

Missionary. [Looks from one to another.] But 
I do not understand? 

Grandmother. We want to know why he has no 
mouth. I never saw a god without a mouth. 

Chorus of Relatives. [Bowing.] And why he 
has no eyes. 

Missionary. But that [she points] is not a god! 
That is a map. 

Entire Family. A map? 

Missionary. Yes, it is the map of the world 
which the One True God created. [Takes the 
Bible which the grandson has previously handed 
to the grandmother.] See, it tells about it here 
in God’s Book—“In the beginning God created 
the heaven and the earth.” And this picture is a 
picture of that earth. See, this blue part is the 
[ 88 ] 


THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH THE EARTH 

water. This other part is the land. This little 
dot is New York. That is the place where I was 
born. This other bigger place where my finger 
now is, is China where you live. 

Grandmother. Honorably tell it all over again. 
New York . . . what is New York? 

Missionary. Well, it is a city. It is full of 
white people,—people white as I am white. 

Grandmother. [Looking her over, thoughtfully , 
merely says:] Oh! 

Daughter-in-Law. What else was in New York 
besides you? 

Missionary. W-e-1-1, so much else! It is such a 
big place . . . but . . . best of all, New York is 
full of churches. A church is a building where 
people come to worship the One True God. My 
husband and I came over to China to build a 
church for you just like the church in New York. 
We hope that you will want to worship the One 
True God. 

Grandmother. Put your finger on New York 
again, Honorable Foreigner. 

Mow Fah Din. What is this little dot? 

Missionary. That is a country called England. 

Relatives. Is England like New York? 

Missionary. [Nodding.] Yes! 

Relatives. Full of churches? 

Missionary. [Nodding.] Yes, full of churches! 

[The relatives look at one another in surprise, 
wagging their heads, very much impressed.] 

Daughter-in-Law. Put your finger on all the 
places where people worship this One True God! 

[89] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

[Missionary runs her finger over America and 
Europe .] 

Little Grandson. [Putting his finger on a spot 
in California .] Is there a church there? 

Missionary. Indeed there is! 

Grandson. I would like to go to a church! 

Relatives. [Admiringly.] Listen to the fine 
little fellow! He wants to go to a church! 

Granddaughter. I would like to go to a church, 
too! 

Relatives. [Rehukingly.] Who asked you to 
speak up? You don’t suppose the One True God 
wants silly little girls in His church, do you? 

[Granddaughter cries as if her heart would 
break.] 

Missionary. [Gathers her into her arms.] 
There! There! You mustn’t cry, for as a matter 
of fact the One True God does want silly little 
girls in His Church. You see, first He wanted me, 
and now that I’m all grown up, I know that He 
will want you. The Bible says so: listen while I 
read it to you— But, no, I will ask the little 
grandson to read it, for I presume you go to school, 
don’t you? 

Relatives. Oh, yes, he goes to school! He is 
very bright! 

Little Granddaughter. I want to go to school! 

Relatives. Tut! Tut! For shame, are there 
schools for girls? 

[Little granddaughter cries. 

Missionary. Don’t cry, dear, you shall come to 
[ 90 ] 


THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH THE EARTH 

my school as soon as it is built, for it is to be a 
school especially for little girls. 

Mow Fah Din. For me, too? 

Missionary. For you, too, when it is finished. 
For the One True God is particularly anxious for 
little children to love Him. This is the place in 
His Bible where He tells us so— [She finds the 
place and hands it to little grandson, who with 
vain conceit stammers haltingly through the 
verse:] “S-suffer — the — little — children — t-to — 
c-come — unto — me, and — forbid — them — not, 
f-for — of — such — is — the — kingdom — of 
heaven.” 

Relatives. Oh, what a bright boy! 

Little Granddaughter. [Anxiously.] Does it 
mean me, too? 

Missionary. Indeed it does! It means every¬ 
body everywhere. And now, can I do anything 
more for any of you to-day, for otherwise I must 
take these three other Bibles to your neighbors, 
as I promised. 

Grandmother. I myself will escort you through 
the courtyard; there is a question I wish to ask 
you privately, Honorable Stranger. 

Missionary. I shall be honored to answer it! I 
thank you for your hospitality. [She hows to the 
others who how very politely to her. She picks up 
the three Bihles, and helps the Grandmother to 
liohhle from the room. The grandmother carries 
the fourth Bihle.] 

Daughter-in-Law. [Glancing secretively over 

[ 91 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

her shoulder.] I wouldn’t have believed it of the 
old lady, but she is deeply interested. 

Relatives. [Nodding in a secretive chorus.] 
Oh, deeply, deeply! 

Daughter-in-Law. Just suppose this new re¬ 

ligion changed her as it changed the Ling family! 

Relatives. [Looking stealthily over their shoul¬ 
ders.] Oh, impossible! Impossible to change that 
old lady! [Two of these relatives now take the 
map from the wall and hold it stretched out be¬ 
tween them. One of them points, saying:] That’s 
New York. 

All the Others. New York is full of churches! 

[All this time Mow Fah Din has been peering 
curiously through the doorway after her grand¬ 
mother and the missionary'; she now calls:] Oh, 
what do you suppose I see? Grandmother is . . . 
[She runs over to tell them the secret, but has 
turned too quickly to see the map stretched be¬ 
tween the two relatives. She crashes into it 

v and falls through it with a crackling, tearing 
sound.] 

Relatives. [Furiously.] Now you’ve done it, 
you clumsy awkward crab! You’ve fallen through 
the earth! Just wait till the Old Lady sees this 
terrible misfortune. U’m’m’m’rn! You’ll be an un¬ 
happy girl then! 

Daughter-in-Law. Here she comes now! 

[Poor Mow Fah Din crouches against the wall, 
cowering, trembling. Enter Grandmother car¬ 
rying the Bible.] 

Relatives. [Pointing from the torn map to Mow 
[ 92 ] 


THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH THE EARTH 

Fah Din.] Look what this clumsy stupid girl has 
done! She fell through the earth! She tore the 
earth in half! 

Daughter-in-Law. We told her you’d have some¬ 
thing dreadful in store for her. 

Grandson. [Poking out his tongue at Mow Fah 
Din.] You bad naughty girl; Grandmother will 
teach you better! 

Grandmother. [Loftily.] Tut! Tut! What a 
tempest in a teapot! Bah, what is the matter with 
all you silly grown-up people that you have to 
bicker and tell tales on a little girl? Besides, 
what is a paper map compared with this heavenly 
Book from the One True God? Come near, while 
I tell you a secret. I, that speak unto you, old 
and stupid woman that I am, have made that for¬ 
eign lady teach me how to read! Well, what do 
you think of that? 

Relatives. Oh, nothing is too difficult for our 
Venerable Mother! [They how in polite unison.] 

Grandmother. Tut! Tut! Don’t waste the air 
in flighty compliments, for I can only read one 
word. Yet what other woman in our town can do 
even that? But I decided I must be the first one 
to know how the name of God looked in print. 
See, this is how it looks—the foreign lady put a 
mark underneath it here and here and here and 
here. She gave me her pencil. She told me to 
keep on marking that name whenever I came across 
it on these pages and then I would know how very 
important God is. But my old eyes are dim, my 
old fingers are trembly. I need some one to help 
[ 93 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

me, so I am going to teach one of you other poor 
ignorant women to read God’s name also. Whom 
shall I choose? 

[A babel of voices, each one calling: u Choose 
me! choose me!” They grab the old lady’s 
arms in their eagerness. Only Mow Fah Din 
silently cowers against the wall, in disgrace .] 

Grandmother. Mow Fah Din, come over here 
and stand before me! 

[Mow Fah Din, trembling, approaches. 

Grandmother. Mow Fah Din, who first brought 
me the Christian’s Book? 

Mow Fah Din. [Bowing.] I did! 

Grandmother. [Chuckling.] Speak up! Speak 
up! Don’t mumble your words. Who first knelt 
to worship the Christian’s God, even though it was 
only the map by mistake? 

Mow Fah Din. I did! 

Grandmother. That’s right. Never mumble 
your words, my child. And who was it fell 
through the earth just now? 

Mow Fah Din. [Hanging her head, and twist - 
ing her hands together in agonized terror.] I 
did! 

[The relatives nod their heads triumphantly.] 

Grandmother. What’s that? Speak up, I didn’t 
hear you! 

Mow Fah Din. I did! I fell through the earth! 

Grandmother. Then you deserve punishment, 
Mow Fah Din; and the penalty is that you are to 
be the one I will teach to read. Well aren’t you 
going to weep and wail? 

[ 94 ] 


THE GIRL WHO FELL THROUGH THE EARTH 

Mow Fah Din. [Stunned with delight.] Oh! 

Grandmother. What’s that? What’s that? 
Speak up louder! 

Mow Fah Din. [Dimpling happily and clapping 
her hands.] Oh, God has waked up little flowers 
of happiness in my heart already! I’m just like 
springtime after winter! 

Grandmother. That’s the way to talk; now 
come here. See, this is the way the word looks. 
[They bend over the page together, all the relatives 
leaning over Grandmother’s shoulder to watch. 
They hold this position, in tableau.] 

Enter Sally. [Holding up a dollar bill in her 
hand. She tiptoes past the Chinese family, and 
standing at the edge of the platform—slightly at 
one side—confides in the audience:] Oh, I wouldn’t 
have missed doing this for worlds! Not for 
worlds! I never dreamed to see any dollar of 
mine working such perfectly lovely miracles for 
a Chinese family,—and not only for this one 
family, for my three other New Testaments are 
waking up the Changs and the Wongs and the 
Mings, also. Oh, I am so glad that I fell through 
the earth, so very, very glad! I wonder, now, 
wouldn’t you like to fall through the earth your¬ 
selves, some of you? . . . wouldn’t you? 

[As she stands there, with the dollar out¬ 
stretched in her hands, the Chinese family 
around the Grandmother sing:] 

“Sing them over again to me, 

Wonderful words of Life; 

[ 95 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


Let me more of their beauty see, 
Wonderful words of Life; 

Words of life and beauty, 

Teach me faith and duty; 

Chorus: 

Beautiful words, wonderful words, 
Wonderful words of Life.” 

CURTAIN, 


[ 96 ] 


SEVEN KEYS TO MR. BALD PATE 

IN ONE SCENE, LAID IN CHINA; EIGHT CHARACTERS; 

ONE SPEAKING PART 

The Cast: 

Mr. Bald Pate, an old Chinese man seated in an 
arm-chair, wearing a Chinese coat and a black 
skull cap on top of his bald pate. This bald¬ 
ness may be simulated by a tight-fitting flesh- 
colored bathing cap. He should wear large 
horn-rimmed spectacles. 

Neighbor, a man similarly dressed as to coat and 
cap, but without the glasses or baldness. 

Son’s Wife, should wear a short Chinese coat. 

Huantzi, little six-year-old girl wearing bright- 
colored pajamas. A. flower over each ear. 

Missionary, wearing hat and coat y carrying 
Bible. 

Nurse, in blue uniform and white apron and cap. 

Enemy, a third Chinese man in Chinese coat and 
skull cap. Carries a graceful flat wicker or 
fiber basket containing fruit, vegetables and 
a string of green cardboard fish hanging over 
the side. 

A Keader. 

Invitation and Poster Suggestions : 

From pearl gray cardboard cut out as many 
good-sized keys as you may need for invitations, 
[ 97 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

writing along the shaft of the key the title of the 
play, with the place and date. For a poster, you 
will of course mount seven of these gray keys on 
a piece of cardboard with the picture of a Chinese 
man at the top. 

Directions : 

This play is to be read by a Reader and acted 
by seven others in pantomime, each player familiar 
enough with the text to take his or her cue from 
the reader’s story. 

Seven good-sized keys should be cut from yel¬ 
low cardboard, labeled along the bar of the key 
with the letters in a column: “Hearsay,” “A 
Tract,” “Curiosity,” “Education,” “Bible,” “Chris¬ 
tian Pills,” and “Forgiveness Through Love.” 

Then, one at a time, at the end of the various 
scenes, the appropriate key should be hung by its 
loop on one of seven hooks across the platform. 

Reader. [Bald Pate seated as above described.] 
You are to picture old Bald Pate sitting in his 
house almost at the end of his life, sedate and pom¬ 
pous in his blue robe and his big horn spectacles, 
outwardly positive that the way he lives is the only 
way to live. Yet down in his heart lies a hunger 
for something he never has put into words; a long¬ 
ing for something he keeps securely locked in his 
heart. You are now to see the seven keys which 
unlocked that heart and satisfied his hungry long¬ 
ings. 

Reader rings bell. I. [Enter Chinese neighbor, 
hobbling, using a cane.] 

[ 98 ] 


SEVEN KEYS TO MR. BALD PATE 

This is a neighbor of Bald Pate’s, an old crony, 
full of the gossip of the village. And you can see 
from the way they put their heads together that 
something unusual has happened. It seems that 
a woman has come to town, some one they call 
a “white foreign devil from the place called 
America,” and it seems she brings a new doctrine. 
Yes, actually, a new God! 

“Well! Well!” sighs Bald Pate wearily, “what 
do we need with another f Why, we have hundreds 
of gods already!” 

“That’s so,” sighs his friend, forlornly wagging 
his head. Then bowing, he adds: “Well, good-by, 
most illustrious and honorable Bald Pate, I must 
make my insignificant departure.” 

“Come again!” cries Bald Pate, also bowing; 
“bring me more news of this astonishing new doc¬ 
trine. Go slowly! Go slowly!” 

And you plainly can see that my first key is 
“Hearsay.” [Hangs it on hook.] 

Reader rings bell. II. [Bald Pate seated as be¬ 
fore, same neighbor enters and hands him leaflet.] 

It is three days later, and you see this same 
neighbor bring Bald Pate a tract. See how he 
stares at it through his big horn glasses, after the 
neighbor has politely backed out of the room. The 
title is: “The Doctrine of the One True God.” He 
does not fully believe any of it, of course, but the 
Chinese venerate every smallest scrap of paper, so 
he hobbles over and places the tract on the idol 
shelf. For where else should a new God be placed, 
pray tell? And he wonders and wonders. The 
[ 99 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


One True God, eh? Does that mean that some¬ 
thing is the matter with all the other gods, then? 
Those little gods of wood and stone, which always 
seem to be asleep when he prays to them; or, if 
not asleep, perhaps gone off on a journey? So 
there was a God somewhere, supposed to be the 
one and only God, was there? He must surely 
know more of this later. 

So the “Tract” was his second key. [ Hangs key 
on hook.] 

Reader rings hell. III. [Bald Pate as before. 
Enter Son’s Wife, carrying tea-tray.] 

Now, on a certain day that was exactly as other 
days, you are to picture Bald Pate sitting as usual, 
when his Son’s Wife enters with his tea-tray. The 
good woman is in great excitement as she babbles 
a curious fairy-story while he drinks his tea. It 
seems that the foreign woman devil has actually 
opened a school where the village girls can go to 
learn to read and write. 

“What, ‘girls’?” shouts Bald Pate, sitting down 
his teacup in high glee; then he waves his hands 
in dismissal: “Go, woman, go, before you make 
more of a dunce of yourself. You talk like a tea¬ 
pot already! Have females brains that they can 
do what men alone can do? Read and write, in¬ 
deed !” 

“But venerable and august sire,” says his Son’s 
Wife, meekly clasping her hands, “I very much de¬ 
sire to send my little daughter Huantzi to get this 
learning, and have come to ask your distinguished 
permission.” 


[ 100 ] 


SEVEN KEYS TO MR. BALD PATE 

“Stuff and nonsense!” laughed old Bald Pate 
merrily; “send along the little old red hen and be 
done with it, woman! Maybe the hen can learn, 
but as for the child Huantzi, never, never! Tell 
me, is there a single female in all our town who 
can read or write a single word? Of course not!” 

But the good woman will not leave; you can see 
her begging with her hands: 

“But will it hurt to try this new learning, most 
glorious and celestial father-in-law? Just suppos¬ 
ing the poor, insignificant child could store some 
knowledge in her ignorant stomach, how honorably 
exalted you would feel.” 

“W-e-1-1,” nods the old grandfather, “it is a 
fooPs errand, of course, but send her along! Send 
her along. And you will see—you will see.” 

So the mother backs herself out of the venerable 
presence, bowing politely; and Bald Pate scratches 
his puzzled old head. 

A female child learn anything? Oh, nonsense! 
nonsense! 

Surely you can see for yourselves that his third 
key was “Curiosity.” [Hangs key on hook.] 

Reader rings hell. IV. [Bald Pate seated; enter 
Huantzi.] 

It is over a month later, and enter the child 
Huantzi, carrying a little post-card. Yes, let me 
assure you right away—it actually is the very post¬ 
card over whose back you yourself pasted paper so 
that it could be sent out in a mission box to China, 
with a hundred other cards. The missionary has 
written a golden text on it in Chinese, which the 
[ 101 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

child Huantzi reads to Bald Pate proudly: “God 
is love,” she reads, pointing at the printed char¬ 
acters. 

Whereupon old Bald Pate says to himself in the 
intricate Chinese language: “Bless my buttons, she 
really can read!” And he is immensely astonished. 

Then the child Huantzi tilts back her dear little 
head and sings a new song she has learned at the 
mission school: [Huantzi now sings this, alone.] 

“Jesus loves me, this I know, 

For the Bible tells me so; 

Little ones to Him belong, 

They are weak, but He is strong.” 

You can see for yourself how Bald Pate is nod¬ 
ding his head up and down in time with the music; 
and when she finishes he says: “Now what is this 
new thing you call the Bible, Huantzi?” 

So the fourth key is “Education,” which this 
cute child could grasp, after all. [Keg on hook.] 

Reader rings hell. V. [Bald Pate seated; enter 
missionary, carrying Bible.] 

Day after day Bald Pate hears the child Huantzi 
humming her little new song, and he keeps won¬ 
dering to himself about the Bible—what is it, any¬ 
how? 

So when our missionary calls he is rather 
pleased. For she sits beside him, turning the 
pages of the Bible and telling him of the One True 
God, how He made the earth and heavens, people 
and animals, trees and all things growing. There 
is no other God besides Him. 

[ 102 ] 


SEVEN KEYS TO MR. BALD PATE 

Over and over she sang this, week after week. 
And Bald Pate keeps the Bible, reading it over 
secretly. He hardly knows whether he dares to 
accept this Bible knowledge, but nevertheless it is 
the fifth key to his closed heart. [ Key on hook.] 

Reader rings hell. VI. [Bald Pate lying down. 
Son’s Wife and Euantzi beside him.~\ 

Then there came a day when he ate something 
which stirred up a tempestuous dragon within him, 
and he was ill unto death. Both he and his family 
said that the dragon was the worst kind of an evil 
spirit, so they called the village quack, a pompous 
old fellow who came and pricked Bald Pate with 
needles six inches long to let out the evil spirits. 
But Bald Pate grew worse and worse. So the 
quack made curious pills concocted of beetles’ legs 
and coffin nails, grasshoppers’ wings and mud 
from the center of the fireplace. But even such 
bitter doses did no good, and Bald Pate turned his 
face to the wall and was about to depart to his 
ancestors. 

Then did the child Huantzi whisper to her 
mother, suggesting that the missionary be con¬ 
sulted. And by great good fortune you and I had 
a visiting nurse in that section of China, who now 
enters. See how easily she helps poor Bald Pate: 
a plaster on his chest, a pill in his mouth, a hot- 
water bottle at his feet. 

Feebly he waves his hand to call them nearer, 
and whispers that he is better already! Then he 
goes to sleep happier than he had ever been before, 
for a “Christian pill” was the sixth convincing key 
[ 103 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

which unlocked his fast-closed heathen heart. [Put 
key on hook.] 

Reader rings hell. VII. [Bald Pate seated. 
Enter Enemy.] 

This is another day, with Bald Pate restored to 
health. He is reading the Bible, and is almost per¬ 
suaded to be a Christian. Almost persuaded, but 
not altogether. 

There enters a neighbor who is an old-time 
enemy. How they have hated each other for years 
and years! Yet now this enemy enters with 
friendly smiles, carrying a basket, which he lays 
at Bald Pate’s feet. 

“Peace be to you, most honorable and venerable 
Bald Pate,” says the enemy, bowing politely. “Per¬ 
mit me to give you this insignificant basket. You 
and I have not dwelt in peace, for we have quar¬ 
reled over the price of fish, and over the price of 
vegetables. Well, I was wrong. I acknowledge 
it. I have cheated you many a time, so as a peace¬ 
offering let me give you this string of fresh-caught 
fish, and these vegetables from my garden, and 
this fruit.” 

You see him spread these gifts on Bald Pate’s 
knees. 

“Dear me! Dear me!” sighs Bald Pate, shaking 
his head and pushing the presents away, “you 
draw out my heart! you draw out my heart! For 
I do not deserve this kindness, neighbor, for the 
wrong has always been on my side, Celestial One. 
I was the one who lied and cheated. . . .” 

“No, no!” cried the enemy, pushing the presents 
[ 104 ] 


SEVEN KEYS TO MR. BALD PATE 


farther on Bald Pate’s lap, “for I must pour into 
your honorable ears the fact that since I have be¬ 
come a follower of the One True God I take no 
pleasure in squabbling and cheating. I pray you 
forgive my unworthy conduct in the past.” 

So I close my story by showing you how Bald 
Pate leans over, clasping the hand of his former 
enemy, as he cries: “This is all I need to convince 
me. I have seen these Christians do many impos¬ 
sible things, like teaching empty-headed females to 
read, and curing men who lie ready to die. I have 
also read their wonderful Bible, half-believing; but 
now that I see an enemy ask forgiveness with 
friendly lips, then indeed do I know what power 
there is in this Jesus doctrine. Oh, neighbor, my 
heart is open—wide open!” 


For the seventh key was “Forgiveness through 
love.” Again I name the seven keys to Bald 
Pate: “Hearsay,” “A Tract,” “Curiosity,” “Edu¬ 
cation,” “Bible,” “Christian Pills,” and “Forgive¬ 
ness through love.” “And the greatest of these is 
love.” 


[ 105 ] 


HANDS UP! 


IN ONE SCENE, LAID IN THE PHILIPPINES, MEXICO, 
CUBA OR PORTO RICO; TEN CHARACTERS (ALL 
MEN OR BOYS) ; SIX SPEAKING PARTS 


>• bandits. 


The Cast: 

Alfonso 
Benito ) 

The Americano, an American missionary. 
Teofilo, the bandit chief. 

Five or six other bandits. 


Directions : 

As this entire play is supposed to take place in 
a wild rocky place, in the Philippines, Mexico, 
Cuba, or Porto Kico, quite a picturesque effect may 
be obtained with gray-tan burlap sacks and gray 
lining material, also plenty of tree branches, palms, 
ferns, etc., for truly remarkable boulders may be 
made from chairs lying on their backs or sides, 
covered loosely with the material mentioned. 
Leave an open space in the middle of the plat¬ 
form to serve as a roadway in the first half of the 
play, afterwards it will be the place where the 
bandits build their camp-fire. On each side of the 
clear space place a big boulder, with large tree 
branches growing behind. Plant these securely in 
buckets and tie inconspicuously to the back sides 
of the boulders. Put smaller rocks (footstools, 
[ 106 ] 


HANDS UP! 


books, etc., covered with gray burlap) in front of 
the boulders, with ferns and palms in the crevices. 

An illustrated copy of “Treasure Island” will 
suggest costume ideas. All the bandits may wear 
khaki trousers and shirts, with gay bandana ker^ 
chiefs (Five-and-Ten-cent Store) knotted in loose 
Y-shape around their necks, and broad bright- 
colored cheesecloth girdles around their waists. 
Benito may have brass curtain rings looped by a 
silk thread over his ears. Both Benito and Al¬ 
fonso should have their faces masked with colored 
kerchiefs knotted across face, leaving only eyes 
exposed. 

When the play opens, Benito is crouching be¬ 
hind one large boulder, Alfonso behind the other. 
Allow several minutes to pass in suspense. Then: 

Alfonso . [Lifting an arm above his boulder, 
waves and hisses:] ’Sst! ’Sst! Benito! 

[Yo answer. 

Alfonso. [Rising, but still somewhat crouched 
over, calls louder :] Benito! 

Benito. [Rises from behind his boulder and 
comes over to meet Alfonso in the cleared space.] 
What is it, Alfonso? 

Alfonso. [Slaps his hip and bends nearly 
double with laughter.] I cannot hold in another 
minute! Oh, what a big little surprise it will be 
for the poor unsuspecting senor, won’t it? Bah, 
I can already see him shudder and turn pale when 
we spring out on him! [Again slaps his hip.] 

Benito. [Seriously.] You born rogue! Is this 
a laughing enterprise that we should joke about it 
[ 107 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

beforehand? Tell me, have you the gag ready, and 
the rope for binding him? 

Alfonso. [Pointing to his old hiding place.'] 
Naturally, friend of mine! Do you suppose I 
want him to escape us? Well, not by a thousand 
saints! Why doesn’t he come? 

Benito. [Looking up at the sky.] The sun has 
been two hours away from the middle of the sky. 
We are early, but he will be along soon. 

Alfonso. [ Chuckling, grinning, rubbing his 
hands in high glee.] This is rare sport! I can’t 
get over how eternally startled he is going to be! 

Benito. [Sternly.] Silence, Alfonso! You 
make me regret that I brought you. This is not 
a light errand. ’Sst! ’Sst! I hear him coming,— 
back to your rock! When I whistle, jump! 

[They rush to their hiding places. Silence. 
Then down the aisle of the auditorium comes 
a young man, the Americano (in palm beach 
suit, light hat) riding a bicycle. He carries a 
Bible in one hand. When he reaches the plat¬ 
form steps, he dismounts. Looking up at the 
sky, takes off his hat and mops his brow.] 
Americano. Phew, it’s hot! Judging by the 
sun I’m early. This old bicycle can’t take hills 
any more, so I’ll have to walk her up this young 
mountain, I fear. [Leads his bicycle up on the 
platform, starts down the center, and is about to 
mount his bicycle again.] 

Benito. [Whistles. Both he and Alfonso leap 
from ambush, crying:] Hands up, Americano! 
Hands up! 


[ 108 ] 


HANDS UP! 


[Americano lays his bicycle on its side, and 
starts to fight.] 

Benito and Alfonso. [Face him with pistols.] 
Hands up, senor! 

Benito. Tie his hands behind him, Alfonso, 
quick. He’s stronger than I thought. 

[Alfonso turns to get coil of rope behind him. 

Americano. [ Calmly, hands held up, but facing 
audience, says to Benito:] Now look here, mj good 
fellow, you needn’t trouble about trussing me up. 
Just take my watch and my money and be done 
with it. I won’t hinder you, for the truth of the 
matter is that I have an engagement in the next 
village in fifteen minutes, and it’s more important 
that I should get there on time than that I should 
stay here to fight for my valuables. Come on, 
don’t hesitate—you are two to one, and my watch 
is on a fob in my left-hand pocket; and as for 
money, what I’ve got is in the right pocket. Help 
yourselves! [He smiles humorously at them, mak¬ 
ing a bow to each.] 

Alfonso. [Chuckles, and pokes his head around 
to give Benito a broad wink.] Shall I tie him up, 
Benito? 

Benito. [Gravely, never moving his eyes from 
the Americano :] I have said it once. Tie him! 
Now senor, you will do well to yield yourself 
calmly. Look out there, Alfonso, he’s going to 
trip you! 

[Americano neatly puts out a foot and trips Al¬ 
fonso who sprawls fiat on the ground.] 

[Alfonso, picking himself up, shakes a fist sav - 

[ 109 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

agely at the Americano and lets forth a stream 
of “Z’r’r’r’s” that sound very wrathful indeed 
as he ties the Americano's hands behind his 
back.] 

Americano. [Struggling.] What’s the idea? 
Didn’t I tell yon to take my money and my watch? 
What more do you want? I’m in a hurry to be off! 

Benito. Alfonso, put the gag across his mouth. 
He isn’t going to be as peaceful as we had sup¬ 
posed. 

Americano. [ Writhing, in the hope of loosening 
the ropes on his hands.] You brown villains! 
What in the world are you up to? 

[Alfonso ties the gag across his mouth, knotting 
it behind. Americano continues to struggle 
and kick.] 

Alfonso. [Admiringly.] My, he’s a wrestler! 
Benito. If he keeps this up, we shall have to 
bind his legs and carry him. 

Alfonso. [ Rebelliously, hands on hips.] Carry 
him? Me? Up that mountain pass? Down those 
deep gorges? Well, not much! Am I a buffalo, 
that I should be treated like a beast of burden? 
Never did I bargain to do any carrying, Benito, 
and that you know right well. 

Benito. [Crossly.] You’ll do as you’re told! 
[To the Americano :] Senor, we have another use 
for you, beside your watch and money, so if you 
come with us quietly all will be well with you. By 
the grave of my father, I promise it! Alfonso, that 
is a good bicycle, too good to be left in the open. 
Hide it carefully. 


[HO] 


HANDS UP! 


[Alfonso hides the bicycle behind the boulders, 
carefully, in order not to cause a landslide! 
Then he and Benito force the Americano at 
their pistol points to proceed them down the 
platform steps and down the opposite aisle 
from the one the Americano previously used. 
At the back of the auditorium they will 
have to wait a few minutes before returning 
down the other aisle, for on the platform 
other bandits now enter and by taking 
dead tree branches from the floor (not those 
set up in buckets) break them into small 
pieces and lay a fire. Surreptitiously one of the 
bandits pulls from behind a boulder a con¬ 
cealed electric light cord and bulb; he puts 
these under the pile of wood. The bandits all 
kneel around the pile, the one with his back 
to the audience pulls out from his shirt front 
pieces of red and orange crepe paper, which 
he wedges between the wood like flames. An¬ 
other bandit takes off his sombrero and gently 
fans the fire to make it blaze; the bandit with 
his back to the audience snaps on the light, 
then places a black pot on the fire. Audi¬ 
torium has become gradually darker and 
darker, so that the camp fire on the platform 
is more effective. The bandits stir the con¬ 
tents of the pot, then one of them ladles out 
a spoonful of food for each of the men sitting 
around the fire. This food may be oyster 
crackers, or broken pieces of graham crackers. 
They sit around eating it. Occasionally one 
[in] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

of them goes over to ladle out a second help¬ 
ing.'] 

Teofilo. Benito comes slowly. 

First Bandit. Maybe the Americano put up a 
fight. 

Second Bandit. He wouldn’t have a chance with 
Benito and Alfonso. I wish I could have been 
there! Chief, will you have another helping? 

[Teofilo holds out hands. Second bandit serves 
him. They eat in silence.] 

First Bandit. [Pointing down aisle.] I see 
them down in the valley. One of them is carrying 
a torch. 

[Down the aisle come Alfonso carrying a torch, 
then the Americano, then Benito. (The torch 
may easily be made by concealing an Ever- 
Ready electric flash-light in a bunch of fag¬ 
gots with red crepe paper tongues projecting 
from the top.) They climb the steps and are 
met by the bandits, all rubbing their hands 
together in satisfaction.] 

Teofilo. [Joyfully slapping Benito on the back.] 
Well, you caught him, I see? Good for you! Good 
for you! Senor, this is a welcome sight indeed. I 
pray you be seated. Alfonso, untie the gag, and 
give the Americano a drink of water. 

[Alfonso obeys this order. The Americano 
drinks gratefully.] 

Teofilo. Benito, untie his hands. [Benito obeys.] 
Senor, be seated. 

[The Americano and the bandits sit down around 

[ 112 ] 


HANDS UP! 


the fire, all of them with their faces toward 
the audience, however.] 

Teofilo. Senor Americano, I apologize deeply 
for the discomfort we have given yon, but we are 
men consumed by curiosity, and since it is not safe 
for us to mix openly with the men of your own 
town or with the peasants in any of the villages 
you visit, we figured out that our only hope was 
to hold you up and kidnap you! We apologize. 

The Americano. [Stroking his chin, and looking 
at Teofilo with a guzzled expression.] Surely I 
am the one to be consumed with curiosity! 

Teofilo. [Spreading out his hands.] That is 
true! Well, senor, we admit it—we are a band of 
desperadoes. Bandits, every one of us. We raid 
the villages down in the valley; we hold up trav¬ 
elers and merchants on the roadways. We are bad 
fellows, Americano. Very bad. 

[The bandits nod their heads, and slap their 
hands together with silent approval.] 

First Bandit. But we aren’t so bad as we used 
to be, chief; not since we saw that old peasant 
fellow. 

Second Bandit. Now that was a curious thing, 
senor. Every day we used to see this old peasant 
slip away from his village and go out in a field 
where there was a rock and some high bushes. 
The peasant seemed to have a treasure hidden 
there. We could see him spend hours gloating 
over it. Then he would hide it and go back to his 
village. 


[ 113 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Teofilo. Can you blame us for wanting to steal 
that treasure? I sent a trusty fellow down to 
get it. 

First Bandit. [Thumping his chest proudly.'] 

He sent me! Well, I went. I lifted that rock 
where the old peasant went. And what did I 
find? 

All the Bandits. Yes, what did he find? Bah! 

Teofilo. He came running back with it, and 
behold, it was not a thing of any value, apparently, 
and I thought he had made a mistake. So the next 
day I sent some one else to get the real treasure. 

Second Bandit. \Pointing at himself.] Senor, 
he sent me! But what did I see? I saw that old 
peasant searching frantically in the tall grasses 
and among the rocks. “Ha! Ha!” said I to my¬ 
self, “what we found was the real treasure, after 
all!” And while I was looking I saw a Catholic 
priest and two Spanish officers cross the field to 
arrest the peasant. They put chains around his 
wrist. They treated him very roughly, and I heard 
the priest saying: “This fellow comes out here 
every day to see the Forbidden Book. I have had 
spies on his tracks. Well, you know what to do 
with a man who does such a thing in secret, don’t 
you?” And those two Spanish officers hustled the 
old peasant off to prison. 

Teofilo. Senor, we are consumed with curiosity. 
For we heard that old peasant crying bravely: 
“You may find my treasure and you may destroy 
it, but every word of it is written on my heart! 
You cannot heat it out of me! You cannot torture 
[ 114 ] 


HANDS UP! 


it out of me!” Well? We are consumed with curi¬ 
osity to know about this Forbidden Book, a book 
which the Catholic priest forbids, which the Span¬ 
ish authorities arrest a man for owning. Senor, 
we have seen you carrying the same sort of a Book 
as you ride from village to village. We are super¬ 
stitious about this treasure which is no treasure, 
yet for which a peasant will go to prison. 

Benito. We have kidnaped you so that you can 
tell us! 

First Bandit. Here it is! Queer little black 
treasure, isn’t it, Senor? Not one of us can read, 
so we don’t know what to make of it. [Hands him 
Bible.] 

Americano. [Turning the Booh over in his 
hands.] A Bible! Well, you’ve certainly come to 
the right person. The Bible is my specialty, and 
I assure you it’s a wonderful Book, my friends! 

All the Bandits. Is it? But how? [They lean 
forward tensely.] 

Americano. What would you say if I should 
tell you that this is a Book which stops bandits 
from being bandits? That won’t let a man steal? 
That tells a man to love his enemies? 

[All the Bandits nudge each other. They throw 
bach their heads and guffaw. Each man 
points a finger of scorn at the Bible.] Senor, 
you joke! 

Americano. No, I am dead in earnest! It is a 
Book more powerful than any two-edged sword. 
I know it seems little and black and unimportant, 
yet it has made great kings tremble and change 
[ 115 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

their manner of life, and it has made humble peo¬ 
ple courageous and strong. 

Teofilo. Senor, read us from the Book. 
Americano. Bring me a torch. 

[Alfonso brings his torch. They cluster closer 
around the Americano, who opens his Bible 
and reads in pantomime inaudible to the audi¬ 
ence, while a singer (either seen or unseen) 
should sing all four verses of the hymn begin¬ 
ning: 

“Tell me the Old, Old Story, 

Of unseen things above, 

Of Jesus and His glory, 

Of Jesus and His love. 

Tell me the story simply, 

As to a little child, 

For I am weak and weary, 

And helpless and defiled.” 

[During all the four verses the bandits can be 
seen listening, questioning, pointing, nodding 
their heads approvingly, joyfully .] 

Teofilo. [At end of hymn.] Senor, it is won¬ 
derful, that Book! We did not know! We did 
not dream! 

All the Bandits. [Nodding.] Wonderful! Won¬ 
derful ! 

Teofilo. Senor, you have been so good to us. 
But see, it is midnight. Shall we not lie down to 
sleep? You will be quite safe with us, I assure 
you, and to-morrow we will talk more of these 
matters. 


[ 116 ] 


HANDS UP! 


Americano. [Smiling.] I have trusted you 
with my life all day at the point of a gun, surely 
I have reason to know that we are friends. But 
before we sleep, I want you to repeat with me the 
one great prayer which all men everywhere are 
praying to-night. Will you not close your eyes 
and pray it as I read it from God’s Book? 

[All the Bandits close their eyes and repeat the 
Lord’s Prayer, sentence by sentence, as the 
Americano reads it from Matthew 6:9-13. 
(Request the audience to join also.) After 
the prayer both bandits and missionary lie 
down on the floor around the camp-fire. After 
a moment of silence two women’s voices are 
heard singing the beautiful benediction, “The 
Lord Bless Thee, and Keep Thee,” hymn num¬ 
ber 210 in Northfield Hymnal, No. 2.] 

CURTAIN 


[ 117 ] 


FARE, PLEASE 


in two acts; eighteen characters; five 

PRINCIPAL SPEAKING PARTS 


The Cast : 

Street-car Conductor. 

Eight Passengers. 

Mrs. Friend, another passenger. 

Mr. Czako. 

Mrs. Czako, his wife. 

Sophie Czako, their twelve-year-old daughter . 
Mona Czako, their ten-year-old daughter. 

Herza Czako, their eight-year-old daughter. 

Kyra Czako, their seven-year-old daughter. 

Gretel Czako, their five-year-old daughter (very 
small for her age). 

Janos Czako, their ten-year-old son. 

Invitations and Posters: 

Small tickets similar to street-car tickets may 
read: “Fare, Please! This ticket good for one 
continuous ride (with stop-over privileges in a 

first-class seat) at the - Church on - 

at-” 

For the poster a long street-car cut from card¬ 
board labeled above the windows and under the 

roof: “SPECIAL CAR FOR - CHURCH.” 

Paste the pictures of persons behind every window. 

[ 118 ] 







FARE, PLEASE 


Directions : 

The interior view of a street-car, extending from 
the front edge of the platform toward the back, 
may be made with one row of five chairs facing 
another row of five chairs, with an aisle between. 
A conductor in blue uniform and cap should stand 
at the rear to call out the streets, help the pas¬ 
sengers aboard, and ring the bell for signals and 
for fares. This bell may be attached to the end 
chair at the rear if there is no way to have it 
higher up near ceiling where it may be pulled by 
a cord. When the curtain rises the passengers 
should be seated as follows: 

Left row of five chairs —(1) Mrs. Friend, with 
her baby (a doll), (2) vacant, (3) lady with arms 
full of bundles, (4) man reading newspaper, hold¬ 
ing it widespread before him, (5) lady. 

Right row of five chairs —(1) gentleman (wear¬ 
ing cut-away coat, flower in button-hole, gray 
gloves, patent leather shoes, high hat, carries 
cane), (2) young girl in sport clothes, carrying 
tennis racket, (3) child kneeling on chair to “look 
out the window,” frequently points at objects out¬ 
side, waves hands, etc., (4) child’s mother, con¬ 
tinually moving his feet away from the girl with 
tennis racket, (5) vacant. 

Note: 

The passengers may all sway slightly to repre¬ 
sent the jolting of the car. You may care to 
change the street names for those in your own 
town. 


[ 119 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


ACT I 

(In the Street-car) 

Conductor. Main Street! Change cars for all 
points north and south. Step lively, please! 

[Enter School Ctrl, arms full of books, carrying 
music roll. Seats herself in fifth chair on 
right. Immediately opens a book, studies dili¬ 
gently, lips moving.] 

Conductor. [Pulls bell cord. Walks down aisle 
calling :] Fare, please! [Stops before gentleman 
in first seat, who dives into his pocket and hands 
a greenback to conductor, who makes change.] 
Fare, please, lady. [This to woman in third seat 
on the left. She has a hard time balancing her 
many bundles on her lap as she reaches for her 
wristbag, slips it off her wrist, opens it, removes 
coin purse, opens purse, and extracts sufficient 
coins one at a time! Conductor then collects fare 
from school girl. Calls:] Construction Street! 
All aboard there. Say, either get on or get off, 
can’t you? 

[Enter Mr. Czako — collarless, red bandanna 
knotted loosely around neck; wears blue over¬ 
alls, white-powdered, very old white-powdered 
coat, dusty slouch hat, muddy shoes; hands 
very dirty; carries dinner pail. Moves up to 
front of car and stands lost in wonder at the 
vision of the fine gentleman. Bends slightly 
nearer to look him up and down.] 

Conductor. [Walking up aisle.] Fare, please! 

[ 120 ] 


FARE, PLEASE 


[No response from the spellbound Mr. Czako. 
Conductor touches him on the shoulder .] Fare, 
please. 

Mr. Czako. [Startled, looks around in some 
alarm.] Huh? 

Conductor. [Crossly.] Say, ain’t you got (five) 
(seven) cents? 

Mr. Czako. [Smiling, and shrugging shoulders 
amiably.] Oh, sure! Sure! [Wedges his dinner- 
pail between his knees, as he digs deep into his 
pocket and hands money to the conductor, who 
relents and says pointing:] There’s a seat behind 
you. [Mr. Czako looks over his shoulder, backs 
into second seat on the left, sitting on the very 
edge of it with his dinner-pail on his knees, obvi¬ 
ously still lost in admiration of the gentleman 
across the aisle. Takes off his own soft tattered 
hat, all powdery with cement, looks from it to the 
high silk hat; blows as much dust as possible from 
his hat, replaces it on his head.] 

Conductor. Factory Street! Watch your step, 
there! 

Poor Foreign Woman. [Who has been waving 
at the car with her bundles as she approaches iti 
from the entrance.] Say, Mister, does this car 
pass the cemetery? 

[Conductor nods. 

[Foreign Woman enters the car carrying two 
immense bundles, one wrapped in newspapers. 
Has small bunch of flowers in her hand. 
Wears black shawl over her head, pinned 
under her chin; full gingham apron. Places 
[ 121 ] “ 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

one bundle in the aisle. All passengers sway; 
she lurches forward into lap of the man read¬ 
ing a newspaper. He looks over the top of it, 
wrathfully.] 

Conductor. Kindly move up forward in the 
aisle. 

[Foreign Woman picks up her bundle, starts to 
move forward; all passengers sway again; she 
almost loses her balance .] 

Gentleman. [Rising and lifting hat.] Madam, 
won’t you take my seat? [He guides her courte¬ 
ously by the elbow into the seat. The woman 
bobs her thanks and murmurs:] Oh, tank-a! 
Tank-a! 

Mr. Czako. [Excitedly slaps his knee with gen¬ 
uine enthusiasm. Fudges Mrs. Friend.] Say, what 
do you know about that? [Jerks head in beaming 
approval.] That should be why I come on America 
—all free and equal here, see? 

Conductor. Fifth Avenue! All aboard, lady. 

[Enter Stylish Lady, in fashionable clothes; 
lorgnette dangles from chain around her neck. 
She comes down the aisle peering through the 
lorgnette in search of a seat. There is none, 
of course, but 

Mr. Czako. [Jumps up, pushing his dinner pail 
under his arm, awkwardly pulling off his hat.] 
Take my sit, leddy. 

[Stylish Lady looks Mr. Czako up and down 
through her lorgnette, then pulls her skirt 
around her fastidiously and turns away.] 

[Mother in fourth seat on the right lifts child 

[ 122 ] 


FARE, PLEASE 


into her lap, so that the lady may take the 
child’s place.] 

[Mr. Czako who has just given a quaint how, 
stands transfixed with surprise at the rehuff. 
Then puts on his hat. Sits down. Strokes his 
chin dubiously, looking from the woman on his 
left to Mrs. Friend on his right. Then dusts 
off his knee with his right sleeve. Looks again 
at Mrs. Friend, inquiringly.] 

[Mrs. Friend gives a half smile. 

Mr. Czako. [Responds with a quick shy smile. 
Brushes his sleeve in his embarrassment. Then 
jerks his thumb in the direction of the gentleman 
standing in the aisle:] Guess I ain’t no fine gent’- 
mans like Mm! 

Conductor. Pleasant Boulevard. 

Mrs. Friend. [Rising, takes small satchel from 
the floor. Just as she passes Mr. Czako he also 
arises. She turns:] Oh, are you getting off here, 
too? I wonder, would you carry the baby for me? 

Mr. Czako. [Bobbing his head, excitedly.] Oh, 
sure! Sure! [Takes baby in his arms. Both he 
and Mrs. Friend then leave the car, and walk from 
the back of platform toward the steps leading to 
the floor of the auditorium. At edge of steps they 
stop, and Mr. Czako says:] One awful schweet 
leetle nice white bebee! Me, I got six leetle bebee 
around to my house, yet once! 

Mrs. Friend. [Smiling.] Oh, I just knew that 
you had babies at your house. That’s why I 
wanted you to carry my little boy. How big are 
your babies now? 


[ 123 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Mr. Czako. [Shifting baby to his left arm, ges¬ 
ticulates with his right hand.] Oh, beeg! Beeg! 
Sophie, she come to here on my shoulder; Janos, 
he came to here. Not much real bebee left around 
to my house now. My wife she can’t do nuttings 
mit the kids no more. I wish you could come see 
her some day. 

Mrs. Friend. Why, I should love to come! You 
must tell me your name and address— 

Mr. Czako. [Pointing to himself.] Paulos 
Czako, twelf Tenement Street. 

Mrs. Friend. Thank you, I will remember— 
Mr. Paulos Czako, twelve Tenement Street. And 
now, how can I thank you for helping me this 
way? [Reaches out her arms and takes the 
baby.] 

Mr. Czako. Oh, I got an awful proud over carry 
these so nice leetle clean white bebee. [Straightens 
his shoulders, and dusts powder from his coat.] 
I ain’t so dirty I couldn’t carry bebees! 

Mrs. Friend. [Regretfully.] Ah, you mustn’t 
let the memory of that lady in the street car hurt 
you; she was judging by the outward appearance, 
which is never fair, Mr. Czako, for you’re a true 
gentleman at heart, and I am very proud to know 
you. Good-by, and thank you! [She shakes his 
hand; then walks down platform steps and seats 
herself inconspicuously in front row.] 

Mr. Czako. [Remains standing on platform, hat 
again in his hand? having waved it after her and 
thrown a kiss at the baby.] By-by, bebee! [Then, 
after a moment’s reflection:] Yell! veil! You are 
[124] 


FARE, PLEASE 


a true gent'mans, Mr. Czako! Me. Yell, I ain't 
so good a gent'mans as I raises my leetle son 
Janos to be. Joost you vait und see. 

CURTAIN 


ACT II 

(In the Czako Home) 

Kitchen table in center of platform. Eight 
chairs around the walls. 

[Enter Sophie. Moves eight chairs close to 
table.] 

[Enter Mona with red tablecloth, which she 
spreads on the table.] 

[Enter Herza with dishes and silverware, which 
she deposits on the table with a clatter. She 
and two other sisters distribute the utensils at 
the eight places.] 

[Enter Kyra, with loaf of bread on plate, and a 
knife. Places these at one end of the table, 
and commences to slice the bread.] 

[Enter Gretel cautiously carrying pitcher of 
water far too big for her. Her four older 
sisters swoop down on her, commandingly:] 
Kow don't you dast to drop it, Gretel Czako. 
Leave me have that pitcher! [Gretel elbows 
them away triumphantly and places pitcher 
on table safely.] 


[ 125 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

[Enter Janos.] What, ain’t popper home yet? 
Say, I want my supper! [Takes crust of 
bread and starts eating it.] 

Sophie. [Grabbing it away from him.] For 
shame you couldn’t wait until your popper gets 
home, Janos Czako. 

[Janos starts chasing her around the table try¬ 
ing to get the crust. The other girls come and 
go, carrying more dishes, etc.] 

[Enter Mrs. Czako, wearing gingham house 
dress and big full apron. Carries frying pan 
and large fork. Mr. Czako follows her, taking 
off his coat which he hangs over the back of 
his chair at one end of table. Mrs. Czako sits 
opposite him; children scramble to seats along 
the sides of table. All bow their heads for 
silent grace; Gretel, however (facing audi¬ 
ence ), stares through her fingers at her moth¬ 
er’s face. When the grace is over, Janos 
becomes very rude, taking food from his sis¬ 
ter’s plates as fast as his mother fills them, 
tweaks their ears and pulls their hair.] 

Mr. Czako. [Clearing his throat impressively, 
points at Janos.] Janos, I want you should be 
always polite on a leddy,—und sisters is leddies. 
For sooner you make always politeness on leddies, 
then I should buy you a white collar und a necktie- 
from-silk. You like? Yes? 

Janos. [Utterly dazed, runs his finger around 
his bare neck, stroking it unbelievingly.] Me? A 
. . . white . . . collar? Me? A . . . necktie . . . 
from . . . silk? Say, do you mean it? 

[ 126 ] 


FARE, PLEASE 

[Mr. Czako nods, his mouth too full of food to 
answer.] 

Chorus of Five Sisters. [Their forks suspended 
in mid-air:] Oh, say, won’t Janos look schwell in 
a necktie-from-silk? 

Sophie. Popper, maybe yon buy me ribbons- 
from-silk, yes? 

Mona. Popper’s going to buy me sashes-from- 
silk, ain’t you, popper? 

Herza. Popper’s going to buy me silk stock¬ 
ings— 

All the Sisters. Popper, I want sashes! Pop¬ 
per, I want ribbons for the hair! 

Mrs. Czako. [Waving her arms.] Sh! Sh! 
For shame you drive your poor popper wild mit 
teasings! He ain’t so rich he could buy sashes, 
und ribbons for hairs. 

Janos. [Jumps up from the table, struts around 
to his father’s chair, thumbs hooked through his 
armhole seams.] How soon you buy me that 
necktie? 

Mrs. Czako. Sophie, Mona, Herza, you all carry 
the dishes off und make a good wash on them. 
Gretel, you, too, und Kyra. Janos, my son, vait 
till I speak you a new word. 

[The table is soon cleared, as each girl carries 
away an armful of dishes. Mr. Czako sits 
placidly at his place, drumming on the table¬ 
cloth. The girls cluster around the doorway 
curiously.] 

Mrs. Czako. [Smoothing her apron, and then 
folding her arms.] Janos, your popper’s awful set 
[127] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

on how you should be polite on the leddies. [Mr. 
Czako nods his approval .] Your popper says how 
down on the sidewalks you should be polite. [Mr. 
Czako nods.'] Und all day by the schoolhouse ,— 
polite. [Mr. Czako nods.] Und all times here at 
home mit your sisters, always politeness. Polite¬ 
ness could be very American, Janos. Your popper 
wants you should be always one nice American. 
[Mr. Czako nods more vigorously still.] 

Janos. [Obviously impressed, but utterly 
stunned, looks from one parent to the other in 
silence. Then, swallowing with difficulty, asks:] 
But why for should I make this new politeness on 
everybody? 

Mrs. Czako. Because all times when you make 
politeness on people, they makes politeness back 
on you, see? Ain’t that why, popper? 

Mr. Czako. [Yods.] Sure I learnt it off the 
street-car conductor: “Fair, please!” he yells to 
everybody. But one awful grand leddy she ain’t 
so fair on me. No! I make fair politeness on 
her, like this: [Rises, bows, points to his vacant 
chair.] “Take a sit, leddy!” But she ain’t mak¬ 
ing no politeness back on me. [Imitates her dis¬ 
dainful glance, her over-nice expression, her aloof 
fashion of mincing away, drawing her skirts care¬ 
fully around her. Mr. Czako shakes his finger at 
Janos.] It ain’t good American not to make fair 
play in this so free und equal countree, Janos, see? 
[Janos nods.] 

Gretel. [Comes running over to him.] Popper, 
that’s what they learnt us at Sunday-school around 
[ 128 ] 


FARE, PLEASE 


to the Emmanual Mission. It’s verses from the 
Bible, popper. It says: “Do like udder folks does 
on you.” 

Sophie. [Shaking her head with a superior 
smiley hurries over also.] Gretel ain’t got it so 
awful straight, popper. This is how the Bible 
says: “Whatsoever ye would that men should do 
to you, do ye even so to them.” 

Mona. [Also coming nearer.] It’s the Golden 
Rule, popper. 

Mrs. Czako. [Taking the crestfallen little 
Gretel on her lap, and kissing the top of her 
head.] Sure! Sure! One way they says it in 
churches, from Bibles; und one way they says it 
in street-cars, from conductors—“Fair, please!” 
It ain’t so easy you could forget it. 

[All the children wag their forefingers playfully 
at one another, whispering:] “Fair, please!” 

Janos. [Coming to the edge of the platform 
makes a stiff little how to the audience, and cup¬ 
ping his mouth with the palms of his hands, says:] 
It ain’t so easy you could forget it—just be fair, 
please. 

[Entire Czako family rise and how to the audi¬ 
ence, the children curtsying in quaint Euro¬ 
pean style as they whisper:] “Fair, please!” 

CURTAIN 


[129 J 


INDELIBLE 


A SHADOW PLAY 


Directions : 

The incidents in this play are to be acted as 
shadow pantomimes projected on a large sheet 
while Mammy Liza Jane tells the story at the fire¬ 
side of her little log cabin. If a stereopticon sheet 
is not obtainable then several bed sheets may be 
stitched together and stretched across the platform 
with plenty of space behind and also some space 
in front. 

By practicing, you can discover just where to 
hold your electric light bulbs, or lamps, behind the 
players in order to cast their shadows most clearly 
on the sheet in the various scenes. Keep a list of 
these “best spots” in order that the actual perform¬ 
ance may pass off smoothly. 

In front of the sheet build a mock fire, either 
with or without andirons; have a great pile of logs 
with leaping jagged flames of yellow, orange and 
red tissue paper illuminated by a concealed elec¬ 
tric light bulb or Ever-ready electric torches. If 
actual logs cannot be used, excellent substitutes 
can be made by wrapping umbrellas and other long 
objects in brown crepe paper. A quaint old rush- 
bottomed chair with a spindle back should stand 
at one side of the “hearth” to complete the picture 
of a log cabin fireplace. 

[ 130 ] 


INDELIBLE 


Before the play, and while the audience is assem¬ 
bling, have plenty of familiar negro songs sung, 
such as “Old Black Joe,” “My Old Kentucky 
Home,” “Way Down Upon the Swanee River,” 
“Massa’s in the Cold, Cold Ground,” “Carry Me 
Back to Old Virginny.” 


Invitations, Tickets and Posters: 

Buy sheets of light-weight black cardboard and 
cut them in the shape of little ink bottles with 
sloping sides. Paste a blue-bordered Dennison 
gummed label in the center of each bottle, the 
label reading: 


INDELIBLE 
A Shadow Play 
to Be given 
at-on- 


These smaller ink bottles may be either tickets or 
invitations. For a poster, cut out an exceedingly 
large ink bottle from a full-sized sheet of the black 
cardboard. The label should be at least 8 x 11 and 
should contain some Negro pictures, e.g., from cer¬ 
tain Cream of Wheat advertisements you can get 
a very quaint old Negro “uncle,” and from the 
Aunt Jemima Pancake Flour advertisements you 
can secure a typical picture of an old southern 
mammy. 


[ 131 ] 





SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


PRELUDE 

[Enter Mammy Liza Jane, limping and holding 
one hip as she settles herself in the chair by 
the fireside, groaning in pain . Her face, 
neck, and hands should be very carefully 
blackened, with absolutely nothing of the 
comic in her make-up. A red bandana ker¬ 
chief should be knotted around her head; she 
should wear a full-gathered gingham apron 
and a shawl around her shoulders .] 

Mammy Liza Jane . [Panting for breath .] 
Land sakes, I’se sure got de misery in my poor old 
bones! Reckon likely I’se not young no more! 
Reckon I’se getting old—now what am it the Good 
Book says? [Reaches under her chair and picks 
up (1) a pair of horn spectacles which she props 
on the end of her nose and (2) a book which from 
all appearances is the Bible, but actually it should 
be this book camouflaged with a black slip cover 
containing five large gold letters to form the word 
“B-I-B-L-E” She can refresh her memory with 
the text of this long story while pretending to be 
thumbing her Bible .] Yas, sah, yas, sah, here am 
the very words—“The grasshopper am a burden.” 
Dat’s me, oh, Lord, dat’s me! [Nods her head 
reflectively .] 

[Enter Topsy, little Negro girl in patched pina¬ 
fore, her black hair braided into two little pig¬ 
tails which stick out at right angles from the 
sides of her head. She is leading Nan, a young 
[132] 


INDELIBLE 


college girl in summer dress, carrying a hat in 
her hand.] 

Topsy. [Pointing.] There’s mammy! Mammy, 
here’s Missy Nan come all the way from the big 
city. 

Mammy. [Trying to rise quickly, hut too rheu- 
matic to get up.] For de land sakes! Oh, my 
honey chile! My honey chile! 

Nan. [Rushing forward.] Now don’t you dare 
get up, Mammy Liza Jane; I know you’ve probably 
got that same old misery in your bones. But here 
I am back again from college! Are you glad to see 
me? [Kneels heside her, kissing her, and slipping 
into her open arms.] 

Mammy. [Swaying hack and forth with de¬ 
light.] Oh, my honey chile! Oh, my bleffed lil 
Missy Nan! You’se jess like a lil white rose! 
You’se jess like a lil fleecy cloud! 

Nan. [Laughing, and shaking her playfully.] 
Oh, stop it, stop it, Mammy Liza Jane! I’m a very 
sedate college graduate now. . . . 

Mammy. [Peering at her up and down over the 
tops of her spectacles.] Yassum, I knows all about 
them colly places! But you don’t look a speck dif¬ 
ferent, honey. Not one single lil speck. 

Nan. [Sitting down at Mammy’s feet.] And 
now I want a story, just like you used to tell me 
years and years ago. 

Mammy. [Raising her hands in shocked sur¬ 
prise.] Now listen to this here lil white lamb! 
Stories, huh? Yet she been to one of them grand 
big colly places? Yassum! Books piled as high 
[133] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

as the barn door? Yassum! Why, honey, ain’t 
you got one of them dippylomas all rolled up in a 
lil white scroll and tied up wid ribbons like it was 
somebody’s pig-tail? Why, honey, reckon this very 
minute you knows more’n the parson and the 
grocer and the undertaker all rolled togedder! 
Then what for you come demanding stories, huh? 

Nan. [Reaching up a hand to stroke the old 
black face.\ Ah, there’s nobody in the whole wide 
world who can make me see pictures in the fire like 
you can, Mammy Liza Jane. 

Mammy. [Clasping Nan’s hand against her 
bosom, sways from side to side with it, crooning:] 
U’m’m! U’m’m! My own bleffed lil angel chile! 
U’m’m! U’m’m! 

Topsy. [Who has been standing first on one 
foot and then on the other, hands on her hips, ad¬ 
miring the young white lady, now claps her hands 
excitedly .] Mammy Liza Jane, if it’s all the same 
to you, jess you tell her ’bout dat lil colored boy 
what slep under the sidewalks. 

Mammy. [Waving an indignant hand.] Now 
jess you run along, Topsy. Nobody ain’t asking 
you nuffin! No, salt! Jess you run along real 
spry, now. 

[Topsy turns away reluctantly, kneading her 
little fists into her eyes, her shoulders heaving 
with sobs.] 

Nan. [Grabs her by the pinafore.] Oh, but 
we’ve got to have Topsy here, Mammy Liza Jane. 
A story wouldn’t be a story without Topsy to hold 
my hand. Indeed it wouldn’t! So you sit here 
[134] 


INDELIBLE 


beside me, Topsy, just as still as a mouse, for 
Mammy’s going to tell us about the boy that slept 
under the sidewalk. So let’s look in the fire for 
the pictures. . . . 

[Topsy and Nan sit hand in hand at Mammy’s 
feet, their faces turned toward the fire and the 
sheet. It will add to the picturesqueness if 
Topsy sits in such a position that her little 
bristling pig-tails are silhouetted against the 
sheet.] 

Mammy. [Chuckling.] Ain’t nebber seed no¬ 
body like Missy Nan for demanding this pertikler 
story! Well, honey, if you shuts your eyes jess as 
tight-as-tight, reckon maybe you can conjure up a 
lil ship wid sails and poops and drefful old-fash¬ 
ioned rigging. Yassum. Jess a lil lovely ship a- 
bobbing on the deep blue ocean. See it, honey? 

[Nan nods. Topsy also, her pig-tails bobbing 
eagerly.] 

[Shadow Scene I: 

[A long table has been placed directly behind 
the sheet. A very realistic “ocean” may be 
shown by means of a long strip of narrow 
shelf paper held flat against the sheet—at 
right angles to the table—the upper edge cut 
into billows and ripples. Somebody holds each 
end of this strip, gently vibrating it up and 
down, and back and forth. Sioc inches behind 
the “ocean” two other persons help to navi¬ 
gate the ship itself, which should be a card¬ 
board silhouette of the “Mayflower” at least 
a foot long. Be sure to cut out the windows 
[135] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

in the poop and to run heavy strings from the 
masts to the how and sides, as such rigging 
and cut-out work will show to advantage 
when an electric light bulb is held in such a 
way that the ship’s shadow is thrown on the 
sheet large and distinct. In order to hold this 
silhouette ship upright, fasten it with brass 
fasteners to the side of a shoe-box, attaching 
strings to the narrow ends of the box so that 
it may be slowly dragged from Africa to 
America. A palm tree on the right represents 
“Africa,” a log cabin at the extreme left rep¬ 
resents “America ” The palm tree may be a 
pencil or twig (inserted in an empty spool) 
with pieces of slashed paper tied at the top 
for leaves. The log cabin, like the ship, is 
merely a silhouette,—slanting roof, chimney, 
open doorway, small window, rough beam ends 
to represent the rough logs at the corners of 
the cabin. Over the doorway and window 
paste red paper in readiness for the next 
scene. Fasten the silhouette log cabin against 
the side of a shoe box so that it may stand 
upright securely. If joss-sticks burn in a 
pill-bottle fastened behind the chimney, smoke 
will come spiraling out in a very realistic 
fashion. Pine tree tips may be fastened at the 
back corner of the shoe box, projecting enough 
to loom like a tree when the electric bulb mag¬ 
nifies it on the sheet. While the ship is mak¬ 
ing its slow voyage across the table, Mammy 
is explaining —] 

[136] 


INDELIBLE 


Mammy. Now, honey, that ain’t no pleasure 
ship! That am the most mighty uncomf’table lil 
ship that hadn’t ought to have ever trabbled no- 
wheres three hundred years ago. For I reckon I 
still hears the groans coming out of the middle 
po’tion of that ship. Yassum; groans and moans 
and drefful carryings on. That am no pleasure 
ship, honey! The “Mayflower” am hilarious com¬ 
pared to that there lil boat called the “Treasurer.” 
Ever notice how nobody can groan and moan like 
Negroes? Honey, reckon they learnt how in that 
there lil boat. ’Deed they did! And they jess 
kep’ right on learning; for there come a day in 
history when the Folks-That-Was-White-As-Paper 
got mighty tired of doing their own work. Yas¬ 
sum. They done got mighty tired of planting their 
own tobaccy and picking their own cotton and 
toting their own parcels. But there was that 
’baccy and there was that cotton; so they done 
reach way over the deep blue sea and nab some 
Folks-That-Was Black-As-Ink, in Africa. Now 
ain’t that jess monstrous smart of them, honey? 
But, oh, those poor Black-As-Ink folks—how they 
groans! U’m’m! How they moans! U’m’m! How 
they carries on! U’m’m! For they don’t like 
being sold as slaves, honey. Howsoever, they built 
them lil log cabins. . . . 


[Shadow Scene II: 
[By this time the ship should have i( landed v in 
America and he removed from sight; the ocean 
may he gently dropped between the table and 
[137] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


the sheet, while the log cabin is pulled by 
strings to the center of the table. Before this 
happens, however, a little lighted electric torch 
should be placed in the shoe-box, for the light 
will then shine through the red paper window 
and doorway giving the effect of firelight com¬ 
ing from inside the cabin. In projecting the 
cabin silhouette on the sheet the movable elec¬ 
tric bulb will give a sunset effect if it is cov¬ 
ered with a layer or two of vivid orange crepe 
paper.] 

Mammy. And ebery ebening when the sun goes 
down, those lonely Black-As-Ink folks sit around 
their lil cabin doors most ready to die, honey; 
’twill somebody starts up a song . . . jess you 
listen . . . ’pears to me I kin hear ’em jess as 
plain as day this very minute. . . . 

[ Topsy’s pig-tails bob excitedly. 

[Behind the sheet some one sings “Swing Low, 
Sweet Chariot.” A banjo or ukulele will add 
the requisite minor qualities.] 

Mammy. Honey, folks only sing ob dying when 
they ain’t got no love ob living; so now I’se gwine 
to conjure up a picture of the Black-As-Ink folks 
working. . . . 

Nan. Oh, Mammy, I never liked that picture! 

Topsy. [Bobbing her pig-tails and hiding her 
head in her hands.] Me neither! 

[Shadow Scene III: 

[At the close of the song above mentioned, re¬ 
move all lights from behind the sheet and 
[138] 


INDELIBLE 


noiselessly shove the table aside so that at 
once a group of three persons may have their 
shadows projected on the screen as they bend 
over picking cotton from some twigs placed in 
jars. One of the workers straightens herself 
painfully, hand on her back as if it were nearly 
broken; wipes face, and fans herself with her 
hand. Overseer strides on scene, lash in hand, 
cruelly beats her, shouting:] Get to work, 
you lazy good-for-nothing! Quit your loaf¬ 
ing! 

Woman. Oh, I ain’t loafing, mistah— [The 
whip however descends with fiendish lashing 
on her back, loud enough to be heard by the 
audience. Fortunately for the victim, the 
overseer may strike several feet behind her, 
for the light which projects both figures on 
the sheet will make it look as if she were 
struck .] 

Nan. [Reaching up to pat Mammy’s cheek.] 
Oh, please skip the rest of that picture, Mammy 
Liza Jane! Fm so ashamed we white folks let it 
happen. . . . 

Mammy. [Nodding her scarlet turban.] Yas, 
honey, all the same as Mistah Abr’am Lincoln was 
ashamed, his very own self. Says he: “If ever I 
gets a chance to hit this thing/’ says he, meaning 
slavery, “I’se gwine to hit it hard!” And he did 
hit it so powerful hard that he ’bolished it, honey! 
And the name of the thing he done hit it with 
am called the proc’mation of ’manc’pation. Oh, 
honey, he were a gent’man, ’deed he were! 

[139] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

[Shadow Scene IV: 

[A picture of Mr. Lincoln may he projected on 
the sheet by holding a very powerful lighted 
bulb directly behind a picture which is printed 
on ordinary paper.'] 

Topsy. [Pointing excitedly.] Mammy, I sees 
Mistah Abr’am Lincoln, ’deed I does! 

Mammy. Shucks, Topsy, reckon you’se most too 
smart to live wid! And now I’se approaching the 
hero of the tale I’se about to embellish. All on 
account of Mistah Abr’am Lincoln this here lil 
boy’s folks am all through wid being slaves, so they 
done go and work in some salt mines. Yassum. 
From before the time when the sun riz up in the 
morning ’twill long after she done set in the 
ebening, dat lil boy and his whole fambly work in 
those salt mines. Yassum. But all the same, you 
ain’t gwine find Booker early in bed at night, 
honey. Listen—don’t you hear the clock strike 
ten. . . . 


[Shadow Scene V: 
[Some one behind the sheet strikes metal with 
metal ten times. The light projects on the 
sheet a small boy, elbows propped on a table, 
head in hand, studying by the light of a candle. 
Wriggles and scratches himself as Mammy 
tells of his flaxen shirt.] 

Mammy. But ten o’clock ain’t bed-time for 
Booker,—land, no! He sit there and he study his 
A B C’s jess like it was early morning dew. Then 
bimeby don’t you hear that clock strike ’leben— 
[140] 


INDELIBLE 


listen [sound of clock], but Booker he still study, 
and study, and study. Now Topsy, don't you dast 
to laugh at how he go scratch hisself—that am all 
account of him being poor. Yassum. And wear¬ 
ing a home-made shirt of rough flax. Honey, that 
flax done prickle all the same as chestnut burrs for 
three, maybe four, weeks 'twill bimeby the sharp 
pints gets broke in, and Booker he don't need to 
scratch quite so hard. But land sakes, he study 
all the same as ever—jess listen to that clock! 
[Strikes twelve.] Presactly,—midnight. And now 
you know how hard Booker he learns them books 
of his'n, 'twill bimeby his mammy see it and his 
pappy see it, and they 'low Booker kin go to day 
school. Yassum. But Booker he 'low he can’t go, 
not without he got a cap. 

[Pantomime of Booker pointing at his head, 
rubbing it, his mother first shaking then nod¬ 
ding her own head as she takes pieces of cloth, 
cuts them out and hastily bastes them to form 
a cap which she hands to Booker. He tries it 
on and claps his hands in approval. Exit 
Booker, his mother waving good-by.] 

Mammy. So then if his mammy don't make him 
a cap out of old pant legs! Booker, he put it on 
his lil woolly head and away he sprint toward 
school. 


[Shadow Scene VI: 
[A row of five pupils is seated, backs to the 
sheet,—three girls, then an aisle, then two 
boys and an empty chair. The little girls have 
[141] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


bristling pig-tails like Topsy’s. Topsy should 
point to them and giggle into her hand! A 
teacher stands before her class, calling the 
roll and marking attendance . Enter Booker, 
sits in vacant chair, removes his cap.] 

Mammy. But, honey, that ain’t no grand colly 
place like where you got gradyated from. That 
am jess a lil no-account country school. Yassum. 
But Booker he ain’t been there a minute afore he 
caught on how those scholards has each got two 
names or even three names. And all the name that 
Booker got am jess—Booker! He ain’t never heard 
tell how black folkses had two names all the same 
as white folkses. So Booker he sit there right 
scart. He got his cap; but he ain’t got no name. 
So what you spect he gwine do ’bout it ’xcept 
maybe make one up? Yassum. Make one up! 
Listen. . . . 


[Scene VI continued: 

[As the teacher calls the roll the pupils stand 
up and say “Present”:] 

Florabella Belinda Adams?—Present; Seraphina 
Jemima Fishback?—Present; Jerusha Smith?— 
Present; Tobias Walker?—Present; Sambo Jones? 
—Present. And you little new boy what’s never 
been here before, what’s your name? [Booker 
stands up, scratches his head, gulps, then says:'] 
Booker, ma’am. Er-er-er, Booker-er Washington. 

Mammy. So he done fetch hisself a name out 
of his own head, Booker does! Yassum. But 
’twarn’t very long ’twill Booker seed that warn’t 
[ 142 ] 


INDELIBLE 


no kind of a school. Bimeby didn’t he know most 
all that the teacher knowed. But Booker he’d 
heard tell of a puffekly grand big school called 
Hampton, five hundred miles away. But he ain’t 
minding five hundred miles! Ain’t he got feet? 
Ain’t he got legs? Well, he jess walks and walks 
and walks and walks. ’Deed he does! 

[Shadow Scene VII: 
[Booker is seen walking,—really only marks 
time. He has a stick over his shoulder with 
a small bundle tied on the end. Finally lies 
down to sleep. A row of hassocks a little 
behind him will elevate the various foot-pas¬ 
sengers who must presently be projected on 
the sheet, walking over him.] 

Mammy. And bimeby, when night come, Booker 
he lay hisself down wheresoever he am. Yassum. 
And onct, honey, in the city of Richmond, Vir- 
ginny, I declare to goodness if Booker don’t hide 
hisself away under a wooden sidewalk, honey, and 
folkses walk round on top of him all night long! 
’Deed they do! I spect they’d be flabbergasted to 
know how Booker am under there. Yassum. Well, 
bimeby, honey, Booker kivers all them five hun¬ 
dred long miles and he knocks on the door of 
Hampton. Listen! Reckon you kin hear him! 

[Shadow Scene VIII: 
[7s really a continuation of Scene VII, for 
Booker has been seen walking along until he 
approaches an imaginary door at which he 
[ 143 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

knocks in pantomime, some one else making 
the actual sound for him. A teacher is seen 
at the door before him. Pantomime of her 
refusal to admit him—shakes her head; 
Booker pleads; teacher relents and points to 
floor, Booker nods eagerly. Pantomime of 
Booker sweeping room with broom; then dust¬ 
ing it. Delight of teacher, who shakes hands 
with him and leads him away with her.] 
Mammy. [Explaining what is happening:] 

But land sakes, Booker am so drefful dirty and 
raggedy, that when the teacher seed him standing 
there first on one foot, then on the other, she ain’t 
’tracted to him. “Hampton am full up,” says she; 
“there ain’t anudder spare inch of room,” says 
she; “I guess you’se got to walk back to the place 
you come from, boy,” says she. But Booker, he 
ain’t gwine to be turned off so easy. He plead so 
powerful hard that the teacher softens up a speck 
and says she reckons the rec’tation room am very 
dirty, suppose he goes clean it. Well, honey, he 
sweep that room once. He sweep that room twice. 
He sweep that room threes times. Yassum! Then 
he dust that room once. He dust that room twice. 
He dust that room three times. Yassum; and then 
he dust that room four times, ’twill you couldn’t 
find a speck ob dust as big as de end of a tiny 
needle, honey, and the corners am as clean as the 
middle of the floor. Well, that teacher she smile 
all over her face. “You come in and stay,” says 
she. And that’s the how Booker ’tended school at 
Hampton. Reckon there was a right smart lot of 
[ 144 ] 


INDELIBLE 


things Booker learned. Reckon Booker ain’t neb- 
ber seed sheets before, honey. First night he sleep 
on top of both sheets. But that ain’t right. So 
next night he sleep under both sheets. But that 
ain’t right, neither. So bimeby he jess lie between 
them sheets, all the same as white folkses do. 
Yassum. Oh, Booker had a peck of things to learn, 
but he am right smart, and bimeby he got hisself 
so full up wid knowledge that he gradyated all the 
same as you jess gradyated from your colly, honey. 
A gent’man done hand Booker Washington a dip- 
pyloma tied round the middle wid ribbon jess like 
your dippyloma, honey. . . . 


[Shadow Scene IX: 
[Young man in college cap and gown bowing as 
he is handed diploma by another man.] 
Mammy. So then Booker, he goes to teach in 
anudder lil school so as he could learn other black 
boys the things he got at Hampton hisself. But, 
honey, that school am full o’ leaks. Yassum. The 
rain it leak through that roof on the head of young 
Mistah Booker Washington, but he ain’t minding 
leaks. No, ma’am. He jess hoist a bumbershoot 
and go on teaching. . . . 


[Shadow Scene X: 
[Young man stands teaching, open book in hand. 
Holds out one hand , palm upward as if to see 
whether water was really coming through. 
Glances upward, and shakes his head. Goes 
and gets an umbrella and raises it.] 

[ 145 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Mammy. Yassum. He keep hisself dry wid one 
hand while he teach Black-As-Ink boys wid the 
other hand, ’twill bimeby that school got a nice 
roof. Yassum. And bimeby it growed ’twill it 
needed anudder building, then anudder building, 
then anudder and anudder. ’Peared like that 
school jess natcherly couldn’t stop growing, ’twill 
it growed bigger’n Hampton. Topsy, tell your ole 
Mammy Liza Jane what Mistah Washington’s 
school am called? 

Topsy. [Turning around.'] Tuskegee Institute! 

Nan. [Also turning.] Oh, I love Booker Wash¬ 
ington ! He wouldn’t let poverty matter. He 
wouldn’t let color matter. He wouldn’t let igno¬ 
rance matter. He wouldn’t let leaks matter. He 
wouldn’t let race prejudice matter. He overcame 
every single obstacle, didn’t he? If only all the 
colored folks would copy him! 

Mammy. Why, honey chile, we does copy him! 
I been keeping my eye on the Good Book this live¬ 
long time, and right here I reads all about Mistah 
Washington, ’deed I does: “Ye are our epistle 
known and read of all men,” says the Bible. 
adjusts her spectacles to read the verse, then lowers 
them to the end of her nose again.] Well, ain’t 
Mistah Booker Washington jess like God’s ’pissle 
to all us Black-As-Ink folks? Yassum. A ’pissle 
am jess a letter, honey; and what am a letter but 
a scrap of white paper wid draps of black ink on 
it? Honey, you’se the white paper, me and Topsy’s 
the draps of black ink! We’se all writing a new 
chapter of God’s Bible ebery blessed day we lives. 

[ 146 ] 


INDELIBLE 


Yassum. And what’s more, you can’t erase it, 
honey! 

Nan. [Springing to her feet impulsively , faces 
the audience :] Indelible! Indelible! Oh, surely 
you and I aren’t satisfied with all the chapters we 
have written. Ten million other Booker Washing¬ 
tons are living in our nation at this very moment 
—poverty is nothing: for one Booker Washington 
had pluck enough to overcome it. Ignorance is 
nothing: for one Booker Washington had pride 
enough to overcome it. But when it comes to 
prejudice, race prejudice . . . Mammy, won’t you 
read your favorite verse in all the Bible? 

Mammy. [Settling her spectacles on her nose, 
reads:] “God hath made of one blood all nations 
of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth 
. . . that they should seek the Lord, if haply they 
might feel after him and find him, though He be 
not far from every one of us.” 

Topsy. [Nodding wisely.] Though—He—be— 
not—far—from—every—one—of—us. 

Nan. [Praying.] Dear Father, Thou who art 
not far from any one of us, black or white, yellow 
or brown, speak to our hearts this night and re¬ 
mind each of us anew that: 

“We are writing the gospels a chapter a day, 

In the deeds that we do and the words that we 
say.” 

Help each of us to say to himself, right now: 
“Pray, what is the gospel according to me?” Oh, 
[ 147 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

God, Thou who dost love all mankind alike, for¬ 
give us for our blind race prejudice and help us 
each to be living epistles of Thy own race brother¬ 
hood. For Jesus’ sake, Amen.” 

[As she stands in prayer, it would he a very 
effective ending to have voices behind the sheet 
sing one of the Negro spirituals: “It’s Me, 0 
Lord,” or “Deep River,” etc.] 


[ 148 ]' 


THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THE 
TELEPHONE BOOK 

one scene; four characters; four speaking 

PARTS 


The Cast: 

Central. 

Miss Nicetown. ( Use the name of your own city 
for this character , of course. Have American 
flag very prominent.) 

Miss Orient, draped in some hind of Oriental 
costume. 

Trouble Chief. 

Suggestions : 

All statistics in this exercise must he changed 
to fit the actual statistics in the town where the 
play is to he given. Even if there is a classified 
supplement in the back of your Telephone Book, 
be sure to consult a city directory and other city 
official lists, since hospital nurses, dentists, ocu¬ 
lists, physicians, etc., in free clinics and dispen¬ 
saries often have no separate telephones, and the 
whole idea of the play is to compare accurately the 
medical status of your town with that of your de¬ 
nomination in all its mission stations. This will 
probably be a startling disclosure, as was the case 
in Rochester, New York, where this play was first 
[ 149 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

given a few years ago, and where the actual figures 
(those given here) were compared with those of 
the Baptist denomination at that date. For de¬ 
nominational data consult an annual report from 
each of your mission boards, or write directly to 
the Board room headquarters to enquire. 

It would be ideal if Miss Mcetown could occupy 
one end of a gallery and Miss Orient the other end, 
each with a telephone receiver. Lacking a gallery, 
it will be quite possible to set up church dinner 
tables to form extra “stands”—two tables at the 
corner of the room at the left of the platform, two 
other tables in the corner of the room at the right 
of the platform. Place a rug on each pair of 
tables, also a chair, a very small table with a tele¬ 
phone on it. “Central” is seated behind a table on 
the platform, and has the regulation telephone 
girl’s apparatus over her head, fillet-style. Behind 
her sits the Trouble Chief, busily jotting down 
facts in his notebook. There is no necessity for 
memorizing the speeches, since all the players may 
have their parts written down on the papers on 
which they are supposedly noting their discoveries. 

[Bell rings. 

Central. Number, please. 

Miss Nicetown. Hello, please give me Informa¬ 
tion. 

Central. This is Information, madam. 

Miss Nicetown. Oh, is it? Well, could you tell 
me how many physicians there are in Nicetown? 

Central. Hold the line a minute, Lady, and I’ll 
look it up in the classified directory in the back of 
[ 150 ] 


GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THE TELEPHONE BOOK 

the telephone book. [She reaches for the book, 
thumbs the pages, counts semi-audibly — “one — 
ten — twenty-seven — eighty-nine—one hundred and 
nineteen” etc.] Hello. Madam, there are 434 
physicians and surgeons listed here. 

Miss Nicetown. Four hundred and thirty-four, 
thank you. [Writes it down.] And have you a 
list of osteopaths? 

Central. Osteopaths? Yes, just a minute. 
[Counts again, running her finger down the list.] 
Thirteen osteopaths. 

Miss Nicetown. Thirteen, thank you. And 
now, how about chiropractors? 

Central. One moment. . . . Thirty-six chiro¬ 
practors, Madam. 

Miss Nicetown. Thirty-six. Could you find out 
about oculists and opticians? 

Central. Certainly; hold the wire . . . forty- 
three opticians. 

Miss Nicetown. And dentists, please? 

Central. Sure! But it’s some list, Lady; just 
a second while I count. [Counts.] One hundred 
and ninety-four dentists, and then there’s the Free 
Dental Dispensary, you know. 

Miss Nicetown. One hundred and ninety-four 
dentists. Yes, I’ve got that down. And now, how 
about drug stores? 

Central. [Counting.] Ninety. 

Miss Nicetown. How about hospitals? 

Central. There are sixteen hospitals, Madam. 

Miss Nicetown. Have you any idea how many 
nurses? 


[ 151 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


Central. Trained nurses, both in and out of hos¬ 
pitals—six hundred and thirty-two, Lady. 

Miss Nicetown. Thank you, Information, you 
have certainly been very obliging. [ Puts down 
the telephone.'] I believe I’ll let Nicetown know 
how well off it is in a medical way! [ Holds up a 
large and clearly printed sign, cut out in the shape 
of an enormous pill bottle, with a brown cork. 
Along the length of the bottle appear the eight 
lines of statistics given above.] 

[Bell rings. 

Central. Number, please. 

Miss Orient. Please give me the Trouble Clerk. 

Central. This is the Trouble Clerk, Madam; 
what seems to be wrong? 

Miss Orient. Oh, I’m trying to put through a 
long distance call from the Orient, but you get my 
line crossed with Nicetown. 

Central. Ex-cuse it, please! 

Miss Orient. Oh, yes, I suppose I’ll have to ex¬ 
cuse it, for I’m always having to excuse you peo¬ 
ple in America. And if I’m not excusing you, I’m 
waiting to hear from you; so now I want to com¬ 
plain a little. . . . 

Central. Certainly, Madam. I will report your 
trouble to the Trouble Chief in writing. What 
seems to be the matter? 

Miss Orient. Well, I’m ’phoning for the- 

denomination. Tell the Trouble Chief that in 
South India the-s have been given six mil¬ 

lion people to evangelize, educate, and doctor; yet 

so far these -s have sent us only fourteen 

[ 152 ] 





GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THE TELEPHONE BOOK 

doctors, seven hospitals and twelve dispensaries. 
For six million persons, imagine! That makes 
one doctor for every 430,000 Hindus in a land 
where famine and cholera and plague are con¬ 
tinually raging. I guess there are 430,000 persons 
living in Mcetown altogether, are there not, but 
how many doctors have they? 

Central. Four hundred and thirty-four doctors, 
Madam, and that doesn’t include dentists or ocu¬ 
lists or osteopaths. And we have sixteen hospitals 
for about 300,000 persons. 

Miss Orient. Sixteen? Oh, I can’t believe it, 
and we have only seven for six million people! It 
isn’t fair! It isn’t fair! 

Central. [Agrees with agitated movements of 
her head.] I’m making a note of it, Lady. 

Miss Orient. Then include Africa too. For 

along the Congo Kiver the -s are the only 

people responsible for 500,000 Africans, yet they 
have only six doctors and a few hospitals. Sup¬ 
pose Mcetown were set down on top of the equator 
with the temperature around 110°, and no Board 
of Health to inspect plague centers and only six 
doctors to cure all the tropical malaria, all the 
fevers, all the sleeping sickness of 500,000 persons, 
what would Mcetown do? 

Central. Do? Well, if I know Mcetown, it 
would kick, Lady! It wouldn’t stand for such a 
risky situation, no, sir! Anything more? [Writ¬ 
ing diligently.'] 

Miss Orient. More? Oh, I should say so! 

Only two-- hospitals in South China among 

[153] 




SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

millions of people looking to that denomination 
for care, only two hospitals in West China for an 
even larger population dependent on us. Please 
say that our doctors out here are simply swamped 
with patients, overworked to the point of breaking. 
I could go on this same way about Burma and 
Assam and the Philippines, but suppose you just 

sum it all up by reporting that forty-six - 

medical missionaries and twenty-six-hospi¬ 

tals are not enough for the millions upon millions 

of persons left to-care. Just add that over 

here a physician is all the surgeon we have, all the 
dentist we have, all the oculist, and even all the 
drugstore. [ She holds up an enormous pill bottle 
sign containing her statistics .] 

Central. [Shaking her head, sadly. ] Fll report 
it, Madam, and—God bless you! [Hands her re¬ 
port to the Trouble Chief behind her.\ 

Trouble Chief. [Reads the report, stroking his 
chin thoughtfully, pursing his lips, frowning with 

perplexity.] -s are expecting too much of 

forty-six medical missionaries, it’s plain to be 
seen! [Rises and goes to the edge of the platform, 

saying:] Oh,-men and women! Oh,- 

boys and girls! I ask you, is it fair that we should 
have so much and that they should have so little? 
In the name of the Great Physician who is touched 
with every feeling of our infirmities I call on you 
to read aloud with me the gospel according to the 
Telephone Book. [Audience reads the Nicetown 
sign at which he points first, and then the Orient 
sign. Allowing a significant pause to intervene, 
[154] 








GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THE TELEPHONE BOOK 

the Trouble Chief again 'points first at Nicetown 
sign as he says:] Freely ye have received, [then 
at Orient sign:] freely give, for the strong ought 
to bear the infirmities of the weak. 

[At this point in the program, a number of little 
Primary girls dressed as nurses (in Red Cross 
caps and stiff white aprons) should come into 
the room carrying empty blue cartons in 
which absorbent cotton is bought . The car¬ 
tons should be full of little cardboard pill- 
bottles which the nurses pass to the audience, 
also pencils so that pledges for medical mis¬ 
sion work may be made. Paint the corks 
brown, and paste a Dennison red-edged 
gummed label in the center of each bottle, 
printing in the label some such phrase as: 
First Aid to the Injured ” or, “An Ounce of 
Prevention—A Pound of Cure,” etc. Even if 
you do not wish to take a Thank offering dis¬ 
tribute the pill-bottles and pencils so that the 
audience may copy off the statistics as sou¬ 
venirs to take home and discuss!] 


[ 155 ] 


PAIN STREET 


A PAGEANT OF MEDICAL MISSIONS IN FIVE PARTS; 
THIRTY OR MORE CHARACTERS; ELEVEN PRIN¬ 
CIPAL SPEAKING PARTS 

The Cast: 

The Angel of Pain. 

The Angel of Paradise. 

Chinese grandfather. 

Chinese grandmother. 

Chinese mother. 

Chinese grandson, little boy about six years old. 
Three Chinese granddaughters,— six, eight, ten 
years old. 

Chinese doctor. 

Missionary nurse. 

Hindu mother-in-law. 

Four Hindu daughters-in-law. 

Hindu son, the husband of one of the daughters - 
in-law. 

Medical missionary, a woman. 

Seven Africans,— four men, three women. 
African witch doctor. 

African Chief. 

Medical missionary, a man. 

Invitations, Posters, Programs: 

Small cardboard pill bottles may be cut from 
[ 156 ] 


PAIN STREET 


white cardboard. Color the cork brown and paste 
a red-bordered Dennison gummed label in the 
center of each bottle, with the words “Pain Street” 
on the label. On the back of the bottle should be 
the date, place, price, etc. Somewhat larger pill- 
bottles may be used for programs, a red-edged label 
in front, the list of scenes in back, e.g. : 


Pain Street 
Prologue. 

Pain Street in China. 
Pain Street in India. 
Pain Street in Africa. 
Epilogue. 


For a poster you will, of course, wish to form a 
street of several houses,—one a tip-roofed Chinese 
house, one a mud hut from India, and one an 
African hut, pasted side by side with palm-trees 
between, and at the end a sign-post. This should 
be cut on a double fold of heavy tan paper, for 
when it is opened one arm of the sign may be 
pasted flat against the poster reading: 


To 

PAIN STREET 


The other arm is to jut out at right angles toward 
the reader, and should also say: “To Pain Street.” 
[ 157 ] 




SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


PROLOGUE 

The parting of the curtain should disclose a 
group of sick persons in Oriental costumes (these 
may be the same characters later to appear in the 
India scene) lying on the floor, or leaning on their 
elbows, or half sitting, forming a tableau of the 
pictures frequently seen of the sick who came to 
our Lord to be cured at sunset time. A soft rose- 
colored light should illumine the group. No 
words are to be spoken as the light grows gradu¬ 
ally dimmer and dimmer; when the platform is 
barely distinguishable the Angel of Pain walks 
through the group, her hands outspread in bless¬ 
ing; then, reaching the edge of the platform sings 
(to tune “Hursley,” with great expression), or 
stands while some unseen singer sings: 

“At even e’er the sun was set 
The sick, oh, Lord, around Thee lay, 

Oh, in what divers pains they met, 

Oh, with what joy they went away.” 

[The platform is now dark, so the curtain may 
he drawn behind the Angel who continues 
singing, while the next scene is quietly pre¬ 
pared .] 

“Once more ’tis eventide, and we 
Oppressed with various ills, draw near, 
What if Thy form we cannot see, 

We know and feel that Thou art here. 

[ 158 ] 


PAIN STREET 


And none, oh, Lord, have perfect rest, 

For none are wholly free from sin; 

And they who fain would love Thee best, 
Are conscious most of wrong within. 

O Saviour Christ, our woes dispel, 

For some are sick, and some are sad, 

And some have never loved Thee well, 

And some have lost the love they had. 

O Saviour Christ, Thou too art Man; 

Thou hast been troubled, tempted, tried; 
Thy kind but searching glance can scan 
The very wounds that shame would hide! 

Thy touch has still its ancient power; 

No word from Thee can fruitless fall; 

Here in this solemn evening hour, 

And in Thy mercy heal us all. Amen.” 

Angel of Pain. And lo, it came to pass as the 
Angel of Pain passed along the Pain Streets of 
the world that she longed to open the Book of Life 
and read to all men everywhere [opens a Bible 
and reads with impressive interpretation:'] "In 
those days they brought the sick unto Jesus and 
He laid His hands upon them and cured them of 
all their diseases. And John, calling unto him 
two of his disciples, sent them to Jesus saying, Art 
Thou He that should come, or look we for another? 
And in the same hour Jesus cured many of their 
infirmities and plagues, and of evil spirits; and 
[ 159 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

unto many that were blind He gave sight. Then 
Jesus answered and said unto them, Go tell John 
what things ye have seen and heard: how the blind 
see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the 
deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have 
the gospel preached unto them.” Moreover, on the 
same day in which the Great Physician ascended 
into heaven He said to His disciples: “Greater 
works than these shall ye do, because I go unto my 
Father.” 

But the Angel of Pain shut the Book of Life 
with a great sigh, crying: “Oh, Thou great God of 
men and angels, where are these greater works 
which thou didst prophecy? For lo, I pass along 
an endless street of pain throughout the world each 
day, yet where, oh, Lord, is he who works Thy 
miracles? Where is he who give the blind their 
sight or helps the lame man walk?” Then in His 
infinite patience the Great Physician led me 
through the darkest places of the world, until be¬ 
hold! in far dim corners and in lowly hovels I 
found God’s ministers of mercy—alas, too few in 
number, yet working day and night as if they 
heard the voice of Him who said to those upon His 
right hand: “Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the 
least of these, my brethren, ye did it unto me.” 
Now one of these houses on Pain Street was located 
in China. [Angel of Pain draws the curtains dis¬ 
closing:] 


[ 160 ] 


PAIN STREET 


PAIN STREET IN OHINA 

where a Chinese family of mother, grandfather, 
grandmother, and several little children, are gath¬ 
ered around a little boy lying on a couch or cot 
(it really should be a brick bed!) covered with 
some oriental sort of covering. 

[The Angel of Pain walks over, and laying her 
hand on the little hoy’s red-speckled face, ex¬ 
plains to the audience:] In this Chinese house 
on Pain Street the family were in great dis¬ 
tress because the little son and heir was nearly 
dead with smallpox. 

Mother. [To the Angel.] But at first we did 
not realize it was Heavenly Blossoms. We thought 
it was a little demon in him, such as children bring 
home with them when they foolishly gather flowers 
at sunset time. For when the flowers close their 
petals the little demons have no place to sleep, and 
try in every way to creep indoors. I snatched the 
flowers from Kom Loi’s hands [demonstrates] and 
tossed them out the doorway, crying: [comes to 
edge of platform throwing away imaginary flow¬ 
ers.'] Bad luck go out! Good luck come in! 

Grandfather . Yes, but she didn’t do it right, 
the stupid creature! My son’s wife has no brains, 
alas! But I am a man of education and learning, 
and I could plainly see that the demon was still 
lodged in my grandson, so I did what I thought 
was wisest. [He winks at his family, inclining his 
head in a self-satisfied fashion, as he paints a Chi¬ 
nese character in black on the child’s cheek.] I 
[ 161 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

dipped a brush in some ink and painted the word 
“tiger” on his cheek,—see, like this! For if there 
is any one thing that frightens a little demon al¬ 
most to pieces it is that one dreadful word “tiger!” 

Grandmother. Yes, but alas! alas! It did not 
frighten this particular wicked demon! But I felt 
sure that a loud noise would make him want to 
hurry away, so we all took tin pans and brass ket¬ 
tles and beat them,—like this! 

[The entire family snatch up metal utensils and 
clash them with as noisy a din as possible. A 
little granddaughter, leaning over to see what 
effect this cure is having, suddenly points 
frantically at the boy’s cheek. The entire 
family stop their noisy clatter to bend over 
the couch.] 

Grandmother. No wonder noise did not drive 
the demon out, for suddenly one of my little grand¬ 
daughters discovered that poor Kom Loi was cov¬ 
ered with “heavenly blossoms.” And yet we 
thought we had been so clever in making the 
Smallpox Goddess skip our house, didn’t we? 

Mother. [Eagerly.] Oh, yes, it was a little 
trick I thought of, myself; for it was quite sim¬ 
ple to be seen that, household by household, the 
Smallpox Goddess was scattering heavenly blos¬ 
soms all up and down our street. So I had the 
loveliest idea! Oh, the brightest idea! Wasn’t it 
really clever of me to think of that trick? 

[The family all wag their heads in assent. 

Grandmother. You see, the smallpox demons 
had already visited our neighbors, next door, for 
[ 162 ] 


PAIN STREET 


all their little sons and daughters were completely 
peppered with the big red heavenly blossoms; so 
my son’s wife said to our neighbor: “Alas, the 
demons will be visiting our house next, as soon as 
they find there is a nice little unspeckled son 
under our roof-tree. But I could fool them if you 
would only lend me one of your little sick boys to 
sleep in my son’s bed to-night!” 

[The family snicker behind their hands at the 
cleverness of the trick.] 

Grandmother. Wasn’t that a clever idea? A 
little borrowed child in our house, already spotted 
with red blossoms, while our own little Kom Loi 
slept next door with our neighbor’s other children. 
Oh, we thought we had the demons pretty well 
mystified, didn’t we? 

[The family wag their heads mournfully. 

Grandfather. [Scratching his head.] Yet some¬ 
how or other, in spite of the clever plan, it didn’t 
work. For see! Kom Loi came home from our 
neighbors covered from top to toe with red 
speckles. So then I went to the temple of the 
Smallpox Goddess to tie red rags on her shrine, 
for she is very, very fond of red—it pleases her so 
much that I hoped she might be good to Kom Loi, 
but alas! alas! the precious boy grew sicker than 
ever; so then I sent for the honorable Wise Man 
of Medicine. [Goes to the door and ushers in the 
Chinese doctor who wears large dark-rimmed gog¬ 
gle glasses and a skull cap with a globular red 
button on top.] You can see for yourself what a 
venerable man of knowledge he is. 

[ 163 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Chinese Doctor. [Pompously seats himself, 
opens a large black box and removes several un¬ 
usually long needles—either steel knitting needles 
or crochet hooks or headless hatpins will make the 
best effect on the audience! The Doctor sorts 
these over, testing the sharpness of the points, 
eventually choosing the longest. Then, clearing 
his throat impressively and stretching his arms as 
if about to need plenty of room for the display of 
muscle, he says in a deep booming voice:] Ahem! 
Little demons that lodge in the body need an exit, 
so I will now proceed to punch a few holes to assist 
their escape. Ahem! It may interest you to know 
that after twenty years of practice I have mas¬ 
tered this difficult art of puncturing and know 
over a thousand spots in the human body where I 
can jab my needle without necessarily killing the 
patient. If some one will now hold the little 
boy’s feet and some one else his arms, I will pro¬ 
ceed. 

[Grandfather holds Kom Loi’s feet; Grand¬ 
mother holds his arms. The Doctor then 
leans over and proceeds to poke his long 
needle apparently into the child’s body. An 
almost too realistic effect may be gained by 
actually slipping it in the crevice between the 
arm and the chest. Kom Loi should immedi¬ 
ately let out terrible screams and struggle to 
get up. The grandparents hold him down. 
The rest of the family look on with their 
clasped hands held spellbound over their lips, 
the mother buries her face in her hands.] 

[ 164 ] 


PAIN STREET 


Doctor. [Replacing needle in his 'box.'] Well, 

that should certainly frighten the demons out! 
I imagine you will have the little boy perfectly 
well by morning. [Rises, bows, and starts toward 
the door.] 

Grandmother. Venerable Sir, do you not hon¬ 
orably think that it might be well to concoct some 
very stiff medicine to make our miserable grandson 
strong once more? 

Doctor. [Pompously reseating himself, peers 
at the boy over the tops of his glasses.] Medicine? 
Certainly! Certainly! Just as you wish! [Again 
opens his black box; removes small brass bowl and 
a stone to use as a grinder. Then, as he mentions 
the various articles, he takes something similar in 
appearance from his box, e.g., brown glove fingers 
make excellent lizards; brown wool for grass- 
hoppers, etc.] Let me see, now, let me see! Yes, 
I will use one, two, three, four salted lizards—here 
they go into the bowl. And one, two, three, four, 
five, six dried grasshoppers; one bird’s claw; a 
little powdered tiger’s bone—that is very strength¬ 
ening, sir! \“Oh, yes, Excellency, very strengthen¬ 
ing!” grandfather murmurs.] And now, undoubt¬ 
edly your honorable son has been devoted enough 
to have your coffin in the house ready for you, so 
could I trouble you to bring me seven rusty coffin 
nails? [The grandfather whispers to little grand¬ 
daughter. She leaves the room, returning with 
seven nails.] I find it very beneficial for small 
boys to have a little mud from the middle of the 
fireplace [Mother says: u Let me get it!” Returns 
[ 165 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 


with little lump of clay ] and a piece of the grand¬ 
mother’s fingernail is also excellent. [He hands 
the grandmother a small knife.] Here is a knife 
to use in paring it off, Old Lady. [After all these 
ingredients are in the bowl, the Doctor solemnly 
grinds and grinds and grinds, the family watching 
him with rapt attention, each hand tucked up the 
opposite sleeve, Chinese style. After a speechless 
moment of this pulverizing, he should begin mold¬ 
ing the powder, wetting his fingers in his mouth 
occasionally, then removes four or five big brown 
cough-drops previously hidden in the bowl, hand¬ 
ing them to the mother:] Here they are—pills 
stiff enough to chase away twenty little demons 
and bring strength to twenty little boys. [Arises; 
bows.] May he live to be a thousand times ten 
thousand years of age. [Exit.] 

Mother. [To Angel.] You can see for yourself 
what stiff magic that was; but even when all five 
of the pills were swallowed Kom Loi was weaker 
than ever. We could hardly hear him breathe. 
We thought he was dead! Then I was really des¬ 
perate, for I saw that he had lost one of his three 
souls and that it must be wandering around in a 
lonely way looking for a home to spend the night. 
So I took one of Kom Loi’s little red satin jackets 
outdoors at sunset time and waved it and waved 
it. [Steps to edge of platform with the little 
jacket, waving it with both hands and calling 
softly, enticingly:] Come back, little lost soul, oh, 
do come back! Come back, little lost soul, come 
back! Come back! 


[ 166 ] 


PAIN STREET 


Grandmother. But I said to her, “You’d better 
call louder than that!” 

Family. [ Nodding, echo forlornly :] Yes, call 
louder! Call louder! 

Mother. [ Louder, with even more yearning .] 
Come back, little lost soul! Come back! Come 
back! [ Holds the jacket against her heart, then 
gives it a last feeble wave as she calls softly:] 
Come back, little lost soul! Oh, do, do, come back! 

Missionary Nurse. [In costume of blue uniform, 
white apron and cap, hurries down the aisle from 
back of auditorium to the platform steps which 
she climbs. Putting her arm around the mother’s 
shoulder, she says:] Is some one sick in your 
house? I am here in China to help you— 

[Together they walk over to the couch, and the 
nurse has begun her work as 

Angel of Pain. [Drawing the curtains, steps in 
front, saying gently:] You do not regret seeing 
your trained nurse enter this home, I know. But, 
oh, the pity of it, that Pain Street in China 
stretches far and wide through all that vast dense 
population of four hundred million souls, where 
small-pox, plague and famine break forth in un¬ 
expected places every day, with idolatry and 
quackery and superstition the only Chinese cure; 
and always, everywhere, the lame, the halt, the 
blind! How can one hundred Christian doctors 
and their few trained nurses meet all this stagger¬ 
ing need? And yet in solemn truth I tell you that, 
in households such as this which you have seen, 
your nurse is not too hurried in her rush of pro- 
[ 16 T] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

phylactic sanitation and last-moment vaccination 
to speak of Jesus Christ who sent her there! So 
that from homes where busy doctors follow in the 
footsteps of the Great Physician you may hear a 
hymn of great contentment rising: 

[Unseen singers, behind the curtain. 

“Out of my bondage, sorrow, and night, 
Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come; 

Into Thy freedom, gladness and light, 

Jesus, I come to Thee; 

Out of my sickness into Thy health, 

Out of my want and into Thy wealth; 

Out of my sin and into Thyself, 

Jesus, I come to Thee.” 

PAIN STREET IN INDIA 

Angel of Pain. [As soon as the hymn is fin¬ 
ished:] In my daily walk down the Pain Streets 
of the world I linger long in India; and always, 
any day, in any village, I can see a sight like this. 
But just because it happens in the zenana of a 
high caste household, do not forget that even worse 
takes place in humbler homes! 

[Angel parts the curtains, disclosing a group of 
four women draped in soft-colored cheesecloth 
saris kneeling around a fifth white-haired 
woman lying on the floor.] 

First Daughter-in-Law. [Stooping to feel the 
sick woman’s forehead.] She is burning up with 
heat and her eyes look glazed. She actually does 
not seem to know us. 


[ 168 ] 


PAIN STREET 


Second Daughter-in-Law. [Sniffing, and tossing 
her head with disgust, as she fans herself.] It’s 
just as I said from the beginning—she’s possessed 
of evil spirits! Any one with half an eye can 
see it! 

First Daughter-in-Law. Hoity-toity, you little 
new upstart! That’s no way to be talking about 
your mother-in-law. 

Second Daughter-in-Law. Indeed? And who 
are you to tell me how to behave? Anyhow, she 
can’t hear a single word we say, can she? See— 
I clap my hands right in her ears. [Claps hands.] 
But she never even blinks an eyelash. And any¬ 
how, I don’t have to be so careful of my words as 
some people I know! [Significantly points a fore¬ 
finger at the First Woman.] You aren’t exactly 
the favorite wife of the favorite son, you know. 
[Laughs scornfully, and arranges the bracelets on 
her arm.] How does it feel to be a perfect nui¬ 
sance to have around, anyhow? 

First Daughter-in-Law. [Looking somewhat 
crestfallen.] Some day maybe you won’t be a 
favorite, either, you simpering bundle of conceit! 
You nasty little cat! You— 

Third Daughter-in-Law. Tut! Tut! Stop your 
foolish bickering. Here’s our mother-in-law pos¬ 
sessed of evil spirits. We ought to be doing some¬ 
thing. 

Fourth Daughter-in-Law. The best thing to do 
is to shake them out. Like this—let me show 
you. 

First Daughter-in-Law. [Pushing her back.] 

[ 169 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Nobody asked your advice! I was just about to 
shake her, myself. You’ll admit that I’m the 
oldest daughter-in-law, so surely it’s my right to 
attend to these matters for the old lady. For as 
mothers-in-law go, she’s a very good sort and I’d 
do a good deal for her. [ Leaning over:} My, she 
certainly is weak! We mustn’t let this continue. 
[Takes the old lady by the shoulders and shakes 
her with more apparent than actual vigor, of 
course, until she sits back on her heels breathless, 
just able to pant:] Well, that’s . . . about . . . 
all . . . I . . . have . . . breath . . . for. . . . 

Second Daughter-in-Law. [Disdainfully fanning 
herself.] Some people I know are all words! [In 
goody-goody falsetto voice:] “She’s a very good 
mother-in-law and I’d do a great deal for her.” 
Ahem! And look at you, now! [Points her fan 
scornfully at the resting, breathless woman.] 

Third Daughter-in-Law. Keep quiet, you saucy 
little piece of baggage; I should say it was your 
turn to do something for the old lady! 

Second Daughter-in-Law. Oh, is it, indeed? 
Well, she can die for all I care. Shake her your¬ 
self! 

Third Daughter-in-Law. I will, you undutiful 
creature! [She leans over and shakes the old 
woman, then sinks back exhausted, panting:] I . . . 
should . . . think . . . that . . . would . . .... 
shake . . . out . . . the . . . evil . . . spirits. . . . 

Fourth Daughter-in-Law. I tell you what I 
think, I think it’s terrible of us to let her sleep; 
for it’s always in sleep that evil spirits steal away 
[ 170 ] 


PAIN STREET 


a person’s breath until they die. I’m going to 
make some strong black coffee for her to drink. 
[Exit.] 

Third Daughter-in-Law. And heat a coin red- 
hot so that we can burn her arm, then the pain of 
it will keep her awake. 

Second Daughter-in-Law. [Suddenly becomes 
animated.] Meantime, I’ll clap my hands in her 
ears. [Leans over and claps her hands, calling:] 
Keep awake! Keep awake! You’ll die if you go 
to sleep! [To the others:] How about some red 
pepper? Once when my brother had the plague 
we kept him awake for days at a time by blowing 
hot pepper-powder in his face, not only did he 
sneeze violently but it made his eyelids sting 
and his throat was so raw that he couldn’t 
sleep! 

Third Daughter-in-Law. That’s really a very 
good idea. I’ll get some pepper. [Hurries to one 
corner of room, returning with imaginary powder 
in her hand which she blows in the old lady s face. 
The mother-in-law sneezes feebly.] 

[The three women nod at each other, satisfied. 

There you see! It worked. [They repeat the ex¬ 
periment; more faint sneezing. First daughter-in- 
law shakes the old lady again.] 

[Enter Fourth Daughter-in-Law with cup of 
coffee.] 

This is as strong and as hot as I could make it. 
[Lifts the old lady’s head and forces the liquid down 
her throat. Then returns with the red hot coin 
held gingerly in a piece of doubled cloth. She burns 

[ 171 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

the old lady’s arm. They bend anxiously over her.] 
Poor old woman! She looks worse to me! 

Second Daughter-in-Law. [Yawns luxuriously, 
arms outspread. Then fans herself.] She’s being 
a nuisance, isn’t she? 

[The others look at her in complete disgust :] 
You shameless creature! [They repeat their reme¬ 
dies — shaking, burning, coffee, pepper.'] 

First Daughter-in-Law. [Beating her breast 
and wailing.] Alas! Alas! She is not long for 
this world! 

Third Daughter-in-Law. [Beating her breast 
and wailing.] Oh, alas! Alas! She is as good as 
dead already, but we have done what we could! 

Fourth Daughter-in-Law. [Swaying from side 
to side in grief.] Alas! Alas! The gods have 
forsaken her. But we have done what we could! 
[All three of them chant, beating their breasts and 
swaying in an abandon of Oriental grief.] We have 
done what we could! We have done what we could! 
We have done what we could! 

[Enter the son wearing white coat, broad red 
girdle around his hips, white turban on his 
head.] 

Women, be still! What does this wild mourning 
mean? 

Women. [Still swaying, each saying a differ¬ 
ent thing.] Salaam, oh, Master, your mother is 
almost dead! Oh, Master, is it not a plague of 
some kind? But we have done what we could! 

[His young wife rises, flirtatiously touches his 
arm with her fan, simpering up at him.] 

[ 172 ] 


PAIN STREET 

S°n. [Shoves her aside impatiently with a flick 
of his hand; stoops over to examine his mother; 
nods as he rises.] Ah, yes, I have heard of this 
plague; men call it influenza. But down in the 

bazaar there is a barber who knows a cure for it_ 

they tell me he cuts a hole in the top of the head, 
puts poison in the hole, then plasters it over with 
lime. 

Women. [Clasping hands in admiration .] Oh, 
that would surely be wonderful. [Then bending 
over the old lady:] But there is not a moment to 
lose; she is getting weaker and weaker. 

Son. [Hurrying to the door.] I will get the 
barber at once! Keep her awake till I come back! 
[Exit.] 

Women. [Clapping their hands and chanting 
rhythmically. ] Do not sleep! Oh, do not sleep! 
It is in sleep that mortals die! Do not sleep! Do 
not sleep! 

[Down the aisle from the back of the auditorium 
comes an American woman doctor, wearing a 
pith sun-hat if possible, and carrying an open 
umbrella in one hand, a doctor’s case in the 
other. She hurries up on the platform, clos¬ 
ing her umbrella before she reaches the 
group.] 

Doctor. I heard that your family had sickness; 

I have come to do what I can. [Takes off her hat, 
opens her medicine case, and kneels beside the old 
lady.] 

Angel of Pain. [Drawing the curtains, steps in 
front of them, saying:] Oh, the little brown women 
[ 173 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

of India,—so tired and so ignorant. You have had 
this brief glimpse, but there are a hundred million 
others—frail old women burning up with fevers, 
or feeble child wives bearing children. Yes, the 
Street of Pain in India moves us all to deep com¬ 
passion, with its million lepers begging by the 
crossroads and its million puny babies wailing 
round the door-sills. Don’t you wonder what a 
single doctor ever does amid such multitudes in 
trouble? And yet in solemn truth I tell you that, 
in households such as this which you have seen, 
these Christian women doctors never cure a sin- 
sick body but they also try to cure its sin-sick soul, 
until from hut to hut along Pain Street in India 
you may hear to-day a hymn arising . . . hark! 
[Puts finger on lips.'] 

Unseen singers: 

“Out of my shameful failure and loss, 

Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come; 

Into the glorious gain of Thy cross, 

Jesus, I come to Thee. 

Out of earth’s sorrows into Thy balm, 

Out of life’s storms and into Thy calm, 

Out of distress to jubilant psalm, 

Jesus, I come to Thee.” 

During the hymn hastily prepare for 
PAIN STREET IN AFRICA 

Angel of Pain. But when we come to darkest 
Africa, Pain Street is one long jungle path of igno- 
[ 174 ] 


PAIN STREET 


ranee and superstition. I give you just one fleet¬ 
ing glimpse—a tribal chief lies dying and the 
tribal Witch Doctor is doing what the Africans 
call “smelling out the victim,” for they feel quite 
confident that some one’s evil eye has cast a spell 
upon the chief and caused his fatal illness. So 
you will see how it is the Witch Doctor’s business 
to grow so frenzied that he can, by inspiration, 
smell out the victim’s name. [She opens the cur¬ 
tains, disclosing a scene in Africa.] 

[Both the auditorium and the platform should 
he dark for this scene, which is to he lighted 
only hy a small camp fire made in the center 
of the stage . Pile faggots and logs of wood 
(or umbrellas wrapped in hrown crepe paper!) 
on top of an electric light hulh or two . 
Tongues of red and orange tissue paper, cut 
flame shape, should come licking out from 
between the logs in a very realistic fashion. 
The light from the bulbs must be sufficient to 
illuminate the blackened faces. Tall palms in 
the background will add local color to this 
jungle scene. 

[Be sure to allow nothing comic in the gro¬ 
tesque appearance of the players (or even in 
their minds!) for this pageant is a prayer 
and not merely an entertainment. The Witch 
Doctor should wear long black tights and 
long black stockings with rubbers or sneakers 
inside the stockings. Long black gloves on 
his hands and arms will be less trouble than 
[ 175 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

blacking them. A number of fur collars may 
be used as pelts to dangle around his waist. 
Feathers in his hair will also add the neces¬ 
sary savage note, and noisy anklets of brass 
curtain rings should be tied around his ankles. 
A spear in one hand and a football rattle in 
the other will complete his outfit. The other 
Africans in the semi-circle facing the camp¬ 
fire should wear close-fitting black clothes and 
black gloves. Gaudy girdles twenty inches 
wide should be around their hips. Great brass 
curtain rings should dangle from their ears by 
invisible strings. Smaller rings can even be 
fastened to the nose by means of court-plaster. 
The more necklaces, the better. The sick Chief 
should be wrapped in an animal skin or a red 
blanket and lie quietly beside the fire, on the 
opposite side from the tribal semi-circle. 

[The entire group should sway with a rhythmic 
guttural pathos, a sound resembling “oom-a! 
oom-a! oom-a!” as the curtain parts, and con¬ 
tinue it as the Witch Doctor starts his slow 
dance round and round the prostrate Chief.] 
The Witch Doctor. [Rattling his rattle as he 
dances quicker and quicker around the Chief, wav¬ 
ing his spear and moaning “oom-a” in unison with 
the other Africans, until suddenly, after eight or 
nine such circlings, he swoops across to the semi¬ 
circle of on-lookers and pointing at a certain 
woman, shouts :] You! You are the victim! You 
cast an evil eye on the Chief! You bewitched him! 

[ 176 ] 


PAIN STREET 


Woman. [Shuddering and holding up her 
hands in horrified protest.] No! No! Not I! 

Group of Africans. [Swaying, murmur to one 
another and point their long black arms at her.] 
It is she who has bewitched our Chief! 

Witch Doctor. [Savagely shaking his rattle at 
her.] Woman, come forth and take your trial by 
sasswood poison! Come forth, I say, for full well 
we know that if the poison kills you it will prove 
your guilt; while if you live, you prove your inno¬ 
cence. Come, here is the poison; take it! [He 
unties a little cup from his belt, and forces it 
against her lips.] 

Woman. [Pushing his hand back.] No! No! 
I am not guilty! 

Group of Africans. [ Swaying, murmuring.] 

Oom-a! Oom-a! 

African. [Nearest the audience suddenly leans 
his head down until his ear is against the floor; 
listens; then lifting his head cries sharply :] Hark, 
I hear the thud of human footsteps approaching! 
[Points down the dark middle aisle of the audito¬ 
rium.] A torch light coming down the jungle 
path! 

[The Africans crane their necks to see. Down 
the pitch-dark aisle comes an American man 
dressed in either a white or a Palm Beach 
suit, carrying a primitive torch. This may be 
made by tying faggots together, putting orange 
and red tissue paper flames at the top to con¬ 
ceal a lighted Ever-Ready electric flashlight.] 
[ 177 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

Africans. [Muttering excitedly to one another.] 
An enemy! From the tribe of enemies! [They 
suddenly hold their spears upright .] 

Witch Doctor. [Neglecting his victim, begins to 
brandish his spear threateningly, as he peers for¬ 
ward.] Ah, a man from the tribe of white men! 
An enemy, indeed! We have never had speech 
with one of these white creatures before. We had 
better make short work of him. He is alone, so it 
will be easy. 

One African. [Shouting excitedly.] I choose 
the white man’s coat! 

Another African. I’ll take the white man’s 
shoes! 

Third African. No, no! I want those shoes 
myself. 

[A babel of angry voices now begin to clamor for 
the shoes, gesticulating, some voices pitched 
high, some low, some guttural, all angry. The 
audience can only distinguish the word 
“shoes.”] 

[The Medical Missionary has now reached the 
platform.] 

[Witch Doctor rushes at him with spear poised.] 

Medical Missionary. [Holds up his right hand 
with quiet authority.] Is it thus that you greet 
the bringer of good news? Is it thus that you treat 
a man who has traveled all night through unknown 
jungle paths to save the life of your chief? See, I 
come in friendship, with no weapon! 

Africans. [Murmur in chorus, nodding their, 
heads.] The white man comes in friendship with 
[ 178 ] 


PAIN STREET 


no weapon—oom-a! oom-a! oom-a! That is good 
of the white man! He brings us good news! 

[The Medical Missionary kneels beside the body 
of the Chief, drawing a stethoscope from his 
pocket to listen to his heart-beats .] 

Angel of Pain. [Drawing the curtain, stands be¬ 
fore it, saying :] Behold, the people that sit in dark¬ 
ness have seen a great light! The light of fearless 
ministry to those in deepest need, for Pain Street 
in Africa is a thoroughfare of utter woe, even as 
you saw just now,—the sufferer often lies neglected 
while an innocent by-stander is made the victim for 
the illness. But through the jungle paths a white 
man has been hastening here and there on the 
errands of the Great Physician, until to-day in sav¬ 
age jungle clearings you may hear a curious sound 
at even-tide— [ Puts finger on lip .] 

TJnseen Singers: 

“Out of unrest and arrogant pride, 

Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come; 

Into Thy blessed will to abide, 

Jesus, I come to Thee; 

Out of myself to dwell in Thy love, 

Out of despair into raptures above, 

Upward for aye on wings like a dove, 

Jesus, I come to Thee.” 

Angel of Pain. So it shall come to pass in that 
great day when the King shall judge all men for 
their deeds upon the earth, that He shall gently say 
to those who followed in the footsteps of the Great 
Physician, “Come ye blessed of my Father, inherit 
[ 179 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

the kingdom prepared for you from before the foun¬ 
dation of the earth, for I was sick, and ye visited 
me.” Then shall those missionaries say: “Lord, 
when saw we Thee sick and visited Thee?” And 
the King shall answer: “Inasmuch as ye did it to 
one of the least of these, my brethren, ye did it 
unto me.” 

[Epilogue: The curtain is now opened behind the 
Angel of Pain, who steps to one side of the 
platform, disclosing a really resplendent Angel 
of Paradise with a gold fillet in her hair and a 
gold girdle around her waist (Christmas tree 
tinsel is excellent) and great white tarlatan 
wings powdered with diamond dust . The plat¬ 
form is brightly lighted.] 

Angel of Paradise. [Unrolls a long white scroll 
and reads :] And lo! a great multitude—which no 
man could number—of all nations—and kindreds— 
and peoples—and tongues—stood before the throne 
—and before the Lamb—clothed with white robes— 
and crying with a loud voice—“Salvation to our 
God—which sitteth upon the throne. Blessing— 
and glory—and wisdom—and thanksgiving—and 
honor—and power—and might—be unto our God 
—forever and ever. Amen.” 

Angel of Pain. [Pointing down the middle aisle 
to a procession of white-robed characters just start¬ 
ing toward the platform.'] Who are these which 
are arrayed in white robes? And whence came 
they? 

[If possible, this processional should include all 
the characters already in the cast, augmented 
[ 180 ] 


PAIN STREET 


by as many more as you may wish. If the time 
is too short for the Africans to reach the rear 
of the auditorium and be draped in white ready 
to take their places in line at once, then several 
other persons should be substituted, their faces 
blackened. For there must be no least delay 
in the continuity, or the entire effect will be 
lost. Each person in the procession should be 
draped in two sheets, one front and one back, 
hanging gracefully from the shoulders where 
they are pinned in folds. A narrow girdle con¬ 
fines the fullness at the hips. A gold tinsel 
circlet may be around their heads. ] 

Angel of Paradise. [Reading from her scroll, 
impressively :] These are they—which come out 
of great tribulation—and have washed their robes 
—and made them white—in the blood of the Lamb. 
Therefore are they—before the throne of God—and 
serve Him day and night. They shall hunger no 
more—neither thirst any more—and God shall wipe 
away—all tears from their eyes; and there, shall be 
—no more death; neither sorrow—nor crying; 
neither shall there be any more pain: for the for¬ 
mer things are passed away. 

Processional. [Singing to tune “TJrbs Beata” or 
“Ewing,” as they file down the aisle and up on the 
platform :] 

“Jerusalem, the golden 
With milk and honey blest, 

Beneath thy contemplation 
Sink heart and voice oppressed; 

[ 181 ] 


SHORT MISSIONARY PLAYS 

I know not, oh, I know not, 

What joys await us there; 

What radiancy of glory! 

What bliss beyond compare! 

There is the throne of David,— 

And there, from care released, 

The song of them that triumph, 

The shout of them that feast; 

And they, who with their Leader, 

Have conquered in the fight, 

For ever and for ever 
Are clad in robes of white. 

Oh, sweet and blessed country, 

The home of God’s elect! 

Oh, sweet and blessed country 
That eager hearts expect ! 

Jesus, in mercy bring us 
To that dear land of rest: 

Who art, with God the Father, 

And Spirit, ever blest. Amen.” 

Angel of Paradise. [Stepping forward and tak¬ 
ing the hand of the Angel of Pain, prays:'] Oh, 
Thou Great Physician, Thou who art touched with 
every feeling of our infirmities, we bring to Thee 
to-night the pain of Thy world. Oh, move us with 
Thy own compassion, Lord, and quicken us with 
Thy own tenderness, that we may each fulfill Thy 
plan for us:—“Greater works than these shall ye 
do because I go to my Father.” 

[ 182 ] 


PAIN STREET 


Graciously bless all our medical missionaries and 
our trained nurses. Give them of Thine own skill 
and power. Oh, God, we thank Thee that it can be 
said of them as of Thyself that the blind see, the 
lame walk, and the poor have the gospel preached 
unto them. 

Through this coming day of overwork and untold 
pain, God, be merciful unto them and bless them 
and cause Thy face to shine upon them; that Thy 
way may be known upon earth, Thy saving health 
among all nations. For Jesus’ sake. Amen. 


CURTAIN 













9 



















* 




♦ 











w 









Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Sept. 2005 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724) 779-21 It 


































































































